


Beyond Contention

by Speakfire



Category: 3:10 to Yuma (2007)
Genre: American History, Canon Compliant, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Post-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements, Redemption, Slow Burn, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:53:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 112,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speakfire/pseuds/Speakfire
Summary: Alice Evans and her sons have plans for the future, but landowner Glen Hollander has some plans of his own. Ben Wade's been laying low since escaping from Yuma Prison, but curiosity makes him consider coming out of hiding.





	1. Pride

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this movie and while on a road trip to Indiana to visit family, I finally came up with a workable idea for a story. Since I didn't know a lot about life in Arizona circa 1886 and I am a firm believer in accuracy when writing historical fiction, I found myself doing a lot of internet research on the towns, railroads, people, lifestyles, clothing and diseases for people living in that time period. At the end of each chapter, I included some of the things I learned during my research that I felt were either interesting enough to include or pertinent to the story. This story was originally posted to ffdotnet. I began writing it in 2008 and finished it in 2012. It's the longest work of fiction I've ever written.

The young man lightly flipped the reins and clicked his tongue, encouraging the horse along as the small town of Bisbee came into sight.

"Now William, there's no need to be in any rush. I'm fairly certain Bisbee hasn't changed all that much since last week when we were here," Alice Evans said to her son chidingly and tucked a few stray strands of her blonde hair back into her bonnet.

"He just wants to see if the post's got any new books or dime magazines at the store, Ma," Mark piped up from the back of the wagon. He had just turned twelve but still had a wide-eyed innocence to his face that made him seem younger than he was.

"Shut up, Mark," his brother ordered, a slight smile playing around the edge of his lips to soften the words. Although he wouldn't be seventeen until the end of summer, William had a seriousness, a stillness about him that few boys his age exhibited. He had always been impatient and impulsive as a child. 'Squirrelly' was the word his father, Dan, used to affectionately describe his oldest son.

All that changed more than two years earlier when William followed his father to Contention, intent on helping him escort the infamous outlaw Ben Wade to the train station there. He had not been gone long, but Alice would never forget how different her son had looked when he'd returned. It was though Will's childhood innocence had been burned out of him in a matter of days.

Alice sighed sadly as thoughts of Dan entered her mind. He'd been a good man and a good husband. _Too noble for his own good as well_ , she mentally added with a flash of irritation and then gave a slight shake of her head. Everything that Dan had done in his life, from joining the Union army, later moving the family to Arizona, to keeping knowledge of the late payments to Glen Hollander a secret, even his decision to make the trip to Contention had been done for the sole purpose of protecting their family.

That knowledge, more than anything else, made her regret the last moments spent with him in their ranch house right before he left for Contention. Instead of being supportive and loving, she'd been cold, distant, argumentative. She hadn't wanted him to go because she had feared the reprisal of Wade's gang, but Alice remembered the look in Dan's eyes, and it wasn't that he had been afraid he'd die, gunned down in Contention. It was fear of losing the ranch they'd work so hard on and even worse, self-disgust with himself because he'd lost the respect of his family.

"Ma, you alright?" Her youngest son's voice brought Alice out of her reverie, and she blinked, looking around. They were just about to Main Street in Bisbee.

She turned slightly on the bench to give him a reassuring smile and nodded. "I'm fine. Just glad to finally get here, is all."

Will's sidelong glanced at her was skeptical, but he said nothing, instead choosing to flip the reins along Nate's back again. He expertly guided the spring wagon into the thriving little town of Bisbee.

It was hard to believe how much Bisbee had grown in the past couple of years since the railroad had come through. The Copper Queen Mine had more than proved its worth as a long-term source of copper ore, unlike the gold and silver mines that had fueled the creation of the mining towns of Contention and Tombstone to the north. Those two cities had reached their peak and now the miners, gamblers, drifters, saloon owners, dancehall girls and more were moving on to other more promising places, including Bisbee.

The wagon had barely stopped in front of the Trading Post before Mark eagerly hopped out of the back to the ground and stretched, rubbing his hip. "Still say we shoulda bought another wagon that had a second bench."

Alice sighed patiently as she climbed down to the ground, resisting the urge to stretch as well. Modest women didn't roll their shoulders and thrust out their chests while standing in the middle of the street, regardless of how taut their muscles or aching their bodies were. "Mark, there were better things to spend our money on than another wagon we don't have a use for. Besides, you know a two bench wagon would leave us even less room for carrying feed and such in the back. Anyway feed bags make more of a cushion for you than your brother and I will have on the bench seat on the way back." She hesitated then asked her youngest son, "You feeling all right?"

Mark rolled his eyes with exasperation, "I feel fine," watching William jump down and walk around to check on Nate, the sorrel gelding that had pulled their wagon into town. The twelve year old ducked away impatiently as his mother reached out to touch his forehead, "I swear, Ma. I'm as right as rain."

"If you even feel a tickle in your chest, you best be gettin' back to this wagon straight aways Mark Evans," Alice gave him her sternest look. It was true, it'd been a year ago spring since the boy had shown even the remotest sign of tuberculosis, but she knew if he over exerted himself or caught a cold, it could return at any time. The dry air and cold winters had worked their magic on him over the years. If they'd remained in the crowded city of Boston, she doubted Mark would be alive today.

Exhaling with irritation, William began to unbuckle the gelding from the traces. "Nate lost a couple of nails on the way," he informed them with a gesture at the animal's front feet. "His shoe is barely hanging on. I'll take him to Elijah and have 'em replaced."

"Alright, but your brother is going to need some help getting those feed bags into the wagon," Alice reminded him.

"I can almost get them by myself," Mark immediately responded. "If it came in forty pound bags instead of fifty pounds, I bet I could lift them alone." He'd just started to hit a growth spurt, and Alice fully expected he'd be taller than she was by summer's end.

Will merely nodded in response and began leading Nate toward the smithy, pausing to allow a horseman dressed in the typical clothing and broad-brimmed hat of a ranch hand and then a fancy phaeton that seemed strangely out of place on Bisbee's dusty streets to pass before crossing the street.

Alice watched him lead the horse away. As she turned back to the Trading Post, her gaze inadvertently settled on the Land & Deed office owned by Hollander. Noting some movement behind the grimy window, the blonde-haired woman quickly looked away and walked up the stairs onto the boardwalk, with Mark following a few steps behind.

Just to the right of the doorway leading into the post, there was a large billboard. It was littered with 'Help Wanted' leaflets for the mines and local ranchers, 'Wanted' signs for the more notorious Arizona outlaws still at large, and 'For sale' notes for everything from bulls to barrels to boots. Alice stopped to examine it for a brief moment, more out of habit than a real desire to buy or sell anything. Finding nothing of interest to her, she continued on to the Trading Post.

"Ma, look at this," Mark's insistent voice called her back to the wanted board.

Alice arced an eyebrow curiously at her son, but instead of explaining, he lifted one of the 'Miners Wanted: See foreman of Copper Queen Mine' signs. Just under it was a Wells Fargo wanted poster for one Ben Wade.

Unlike many of the other 'Wanted' listings there, this one had no accompanying picture, because unlike many outlaws and gunfighters, including Billy the Kid, Doc Holliday and the infamous James and Younger gang, Wade had never allowed his picture to be taken. It simply stated in large block letters, 'Wanted Dead or Alive, Ben Wade, for robbing the Southern Pacific Railroad Company. A reward of 2500 dollars will be paid for his arrest and conviction.'

No one had seen hide nor hair of Ben Wade in more than two years. He'd escaped from the train before it had even arrived at Yuma Territorial Prison. Rumor had it that he'd been unable to form a new outlaw gang. He'd always had a reputation as a tough but canny leader, one who had zero tolerance for errors and stupidity among his followers. In the past, Wade's luck and incredible success with the planning and execution of the robberies he'd spearheaded made the risks well worth the monetary reward for his gang members.

However, once word got out 'bout how he'd executed his entire gang in cold blood, right there in the middle of the street in Contention, even the greediest of outlaws had apparently decided there were easier and safer ways to be making money than by working with an unpredictable Ben Wade.

The theories about his disappearance varied wildly. Lawmen and Southern Pacific Railroad men said he was dead, more likely out of hope that they'd never run into him again than out of any real knowledge one way or the other. Some people said he'd lost himself in Mexico, where he wasn't a wanted man. Another rumor was that he'd headed back east, and used the money amassed from his robberies to buy a saloon and gambling hall in Kansas.

Alice definitely couldn't imagine that last one being true. He just didn't seem the type to go into business as a saloon owner. Although she'd spent less than an hour in Ben Wade's presence, that had been more than enough time for Alice to see what an intelligent, cunning, and complex man the outlaw was. _Like a tiger_ , she thought to herself, remembering the first time she'd ever seen one of the huge striped cats in the Philadelphia Zoo. _Fascinating and frightening at the same time._

William refused to say a bad word about the man. He insisted that Wade had saved Dan, himself and the others (with the exception of that thuggish bastard Tucker and the Pinkerton agent) from attack by the Apaches and from a posse of railroad men hell bent on torturing Wade out of vengeance. Dan and Ben had worked together to escape, but poor Doc Potter had died in the attempt.

Her son was also adamant about the fact that Ben Wade had gunned down his own gang in a fit of rage because they'd killed Dan Evans. But why would Wade care one way or the other about a man who had not only helped capture him, but was literally his prison escort? And why would he be mad enough to shoot his own gang, some of whom were presumably his friends, for helping him escape? Not that he'd escaped, instead the man had climbed into that railcar and headed on to Yuma as though he were still under guard. None of it made any sense.

Giving a slight shake of her head, Alice pulled the 'Miners wanted' poster back down to cover the outlaw notice and said firmly, "We've got things we need to be doing, and they don't involve standing around looking at notices for junk we don't want or need. I'd like to get home in time to have dinner on the table by five o'clock." She brushed her fingertips along the edge of her bonnet, making sure no more swathes of hair had escaped, and led the way into the Trading Post.

Bisbee's Trading Post had doubled in size in recent months. The store's owner, Jacob Turner, was spry old man who had to be nearly sixty by now. While he took care of the store, his wife Ethel kept jars in the store well stocked with delicious candies and cookies that she made every morning. The miners loved them nearly as much as Mark and William did.

The store was fairly empty, save for a couple of miners milling around and a neatly dressed older woman with a pinched expression, who happened to be holding a few spools of thread. The woman was walking toward the doorway to exit the store, and Mr. Turner was completing a candy sale to a pair of grubby faced boys. Despite the fact that neither child was more than eight years old, Alice strongly suspected they were helping out in the mines. Her suspicion was confirmed when one of the miners called, "Hurry up, Jed, we gotta get on back to the camp." Ranching may have been long hard work, but it had nothing on the conditions miners lived and worked in. The two boys were already stuffing licorice sticks into their mouths as they headed out the door with their father and the other miner.

"Ms. Evans. I hope this afternoon finds you and your boys well?" the other woman said as Alice began to move past her, her sharp birdlike eyes flickering to Mark expectantly as though expecting him to break into racking coughs at any moment.

The boy gave the woman a quick smile and a respectful nod before hurrying over to the counter to examine the candy and cookie jars.

Mrs. Agnes Newsome was a notorious busybody and gossip, one of those people who delighted in hearing other people's bad news. She also happened to be the wife of the only preacher in Bisbee, and believed that anyone who missed her husband's fire and brimstone sermons, for any reason, was potentially doomed to eternal damnation.

Alice smiled politely, assuring her, "We're doing quite well, thank you, Mrs. Newsome. Splendid sermon this past Sunday, wasn't it?" She'd learned long ago not to ask Mrs. Newsome how she was doing. That simple question inevitably would lead to a long drawn out complaint about everything from her husband's gout to her recent battle with a foot bunion.

Nothing pleased Mrs. Newsome more, though, then hearing her husband's sermons praised. "It was indeed. No one preaches a sermon like my Archibald," she stated, puffing her ample bosom out with pride.

Jacob Turner cleared his throat and Alice hastily said to Agnes, "Please excuse me. I've got to get a few things from Mr. Turner before we head back to the ranch. It was simply lovely seeing you again so soon, Mrs. Newsome. We'll see you on Sunday at church."

"Lovely." Without saying goodbye, Agnes bustled out of the store.

Alice allowed herself to relax and gave Mr. Turner a warm smile, reaching into her reticule and withdrawing a piece of paper. She handed it to him, saying, "We just need a few things, what with summer nearly here. Just the usual, nothing out of the ordinary."

Adjusting his spectacles as he perused the list, Jacob bobbed his head. "It'll be no trouble at all." He squinted his warm brown eyes and looked over her shoulder. "Where's young William at? You didn't leave him at the ranch, did you?"

"Nate lost a couple of nails and Will had to take him over to see Elijah," Mark responded for her, and then gestured at the jars with a disappointed expression. "You already sold out of the cinnamon and sugar cookies?"

Laughing lightly, Alice apologized for her son, "I'm sorry Mr. Turner, but he talked of nothing but those cinnamon sprinkle cookies the entire way here."

"Sorry, lad, but the last one sold about an hour before you got here," Jacob informed him with a smile as he walked around the store, gathering up the supplies as he went. "We've still got the oatmeal cookies, but if those aren't to your liking…"

"Oh no, sir," Mark hurriedly said. He loved the oatmeal cookies just as much as he did the cinnamon topped ones. "Oatmeal is wonderful, thank you sir." The boy reached into his pocket and unfolded a clean red hankerchief to wrap the cookies in as he withdrew four of them from the jar.

Alice wasn't a woman who enjoyed standing around feeling useless, so she gathered a few of the smaller items she had on her list. Peppercorns, leavening, and a tin of coffee were added to the other items on the counter.

A few moments later, everything, with the exception of the bags of feed, was piled on the countertop. Jacob reached under the counter, smiling up at Alice. "I'd hoped to give these to him myself, but since William's not here yet…"

"Yes I am," Will said, walking into the store. "Sorry it took so long, I had to wait for Elijah to finish up on another horse before he could get to Nate." The teenager's eyes skimmed over the stack of goods piled there, checking to see if anything had been forgotten. "You were saying you had something for me, Mr. Turner?"

"Indeed I do. Ethel managed to pick these up for you a few days back when the train came through," Jacob lifted a small stack of dime novels and smiled when William's face lit with excitement at the prospect of more reading material. "She also thought you might like this…" and here he lifted a real book. "She already finished reading it, and said it was very exciting."

Alice examined the rag-edged novel. " _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ ," she read the title out loud. "Well it certainly sounds exciting, that's for sure."

William beamed at Jacob as he accepted the books. "I'll give 'em back as soon as I am done with them, so you can trade them for others."

Grinning, the old man gave him a wink. "No rush. I know you'll take good care of 'em. Now then, let me add all of this up…" He went down the list of paper, making small notations as he did the math and lifted his head. "That'll be five dollars and six bits," he informed her, almost apologetically.

Feeling her smile falter briefly at the amount, Alice quickly recovered. "My goodness, was it that much last time?" she inquired as she handed over the money, though she already knew the answer. "You boys get the supplies loaded into the wagon, I'll be out in a minute."

"I'm afraid not," Jacob replied, watching the boys carry the goods out the door. "Prices keep going up. I expect they'll peak here soon though, it can't get much worse than it is."

The heavier sound of a man's boots came from behind her and Glen Hollander's familiar voice spoke up. "You runnin' out of that money Butterfield gave you already? I never did meet a woman with any kind of sense when it came to buying stuff, they're always more interested in getting that pretty dress and sewin' and the like."

"Mr. Hollander," Alice's words were accompanied by a slight nod that conveyed the barest hint of courtesy. Across the counter, Jacob excused himself and hurried off to help a young woman, who was struggling with a wiggling toddler in her arms.

The tall man's gave her his most charming smile, admonishing her, "Now I know I've told you a few times to call me Glen." His eyes brushed over her bonnet and her face, "Not that you don't look as pretty as a picture, a fine woman like you." His expression turned slightly more speculative, and he noted, "I heard that it's not just bonnets and dresses you've been buying. One of my boys told me you got yourself a couple of new bulls brought in from back east, some of them Hear-fords."

"They're called Herefords," Mark informed him as he hefted a bag of sugar to his shoulder to carry outside. William was in the wagon, shifting the bags around in the bed to even out the weight.

"Mark," Alice gave him a look. As much as she disliked Hollander, she felt the need to show some respect for the man when interacting with him face to face, since he still held the deed to their ranch. She mustered a smile for the older man, lifting her chin slightly. "It is Hereford though. It's an English name."

The man made a disgusted sound, "Whatever. Ain't like the English know anything about cattle. You really think those bulls are going to survive an Arizona summer? Longhorn cattle are your best bet out here, Alice. They're big, mean, and tough enough to eat cactus. If you had a man around the house, he'da told you the same."

"She does have a man around the house," William retorted, glaring at him from the doorway. "And we all made the decision to get those bulls together, after reading about them in a magazine. They were one of the top breeds in the Chicago Fat Stock show in '83 and…"

Hollander broke into uproarious laughter at that, interrupting anything William had been about to say. "A magazine? You read about them in a magazine and decided to buy some?"

On the other side of the store, Jacob and the young woman he was assisting stared at Mr. Hollander curiously. William merely stood there, fists clenched at his sides, while Alice arced an eyebrow up at the man, crossing her arms as she patiently waited for his laughter to die down. The guffaws were so loud that they must have been heard clear outside the store, for a roughly dressed man wearing a broad-brimmed hat who'd been looking at the 'Wanted' ads peered around the corner into the store to see what all the fuss was about.

It was a few moments before Glen finally regained control of himself and he wiped tears away from his eyes with his thumbs. "Son," he directed his words at William, grinning broadly, "a man that needs the help of a woman to make decisions around the ranch ain't much of a man."

Instead of responding to that dig, William squared his shoulders and looked at his mother. "The wagon's loaded up. We can head on home whenever you're ready." Turning on his boot heel, he brushed past the man at the Trading Post's door with a muttered "Pardon me."

"Mr. Hollander," Alice was proud of how composed she sounded as she followed the tall landowner toward the entrance to the Trading Post. The drifter out there had turned back and was examining the ad boards again. "You wouldn't happen to know why our stream has dwindled down to a trickle despite the fact that it's not even summer yet, would you?"

"It has?" Glen's eyes widened with what was almost certainly feigned surprise. "I'll have my boys look into that. Could be that spring is finally drying up. That can happen, you know."

Inclining her head slightly, Alice retorted, "Yes, I was aware of that. However, I'm also aware that it usually happens after a summer drought, not after the spring rains." She allowed the faintest smile to touch her lips, "I told William that you were a man of your word, and as such you wouldn't dam up the creek intentionally, not after promising Mr. Butterfield you'd keep the water flowing for as long as we were on that land."

Hollander's blue eyes flickered with irritation, but he gave her a smooth even smile that flashed his teeth. "Mr. Butterfield ain't been in Bisbee in more'n a year, Mrs. Evans. And I said I'll look into it."

That had actually been more of a response than Alice had expected, so she nodded politely at him. "Thank you, Mr. Hollander." She headed out of the store and to the wagon where her boys were waiting for her.

The drifter just outside the Trading Post turned slightly away from the 'Wanted' boards, watching Alice step off of the boardwalk from under the brim of his hat.

William offered his mother a hand up into the wagon, and resettled onto his side of the bench seat, while Mark comfortably arranged himself on a large sack of feed with one of the dime magazines. Clucking at Nate, Will gave the reins a shake to get him moving.

Glen watched the wagon as William drove it down Main Street and out of Bisbee, commenting, "That there is one beautiful woman. Smart too, though she needs to learn how and when to speak when there's a real man about." He hitched up his pants, leaning against the door frame as he commented, "I'll never understand it, what she saw in that spineless bootlicker Evans. The man didn't have a lick of pride in his scrawny body."

The roughly dressed man lifted the 'Miner's Wanted' ad and stared at those blaring letters beneath that proclaimed, 'Wanted Dead or Alive, Ben Wade.' His lips twisted with irony as he quoted softly, "By pride cometh contention," and allowed the leaflet to drop back down.

"'Scuse me?" Hollander blinked, not sure he'd heard the other man correctly.

"Proverbs," the man responded simply. He was at least a couple of inches taller than Hollander himself, and perhaps a few years younger. Bluish-green eyes edged by crow's feet squinted at him out of a clean-shaven ruggedly handsome face. His clothing was worn and typical of most of the ranch hands found in Arizona would wear, from the bandanna around his neck to the duster coat on his back and slate grey pants. And like most ranch hands in Arizona, he was armed. A holstered Colt single action army revolver hung low on his right hip.

Removing his broad-brimmed hat to reveal short, neatly cut black hair, the stranger asked, "You Glen Hollander?"

"Who's asking?" Hollander demanded. The drifter's face was vaguely familiar, but with the number of people that had been coming and going in Bisbee, especially over the last couple of year, Glen doubted he'd ever be able to put a name to the face in front of him without some help.

"Joshua Mason." The man held out his hand for Hollander to shake in greeting, a slight smile playing across his lips. "We haven't officially met before and I hope you don't mind me saying so, but I feel like I know you already."

Glen took the offered hand and pumped it a couple of times in greeting before releasing. "That right?" The balding man had the faintest inkling that he was being teased, but he had no idea why. Mentally shrugging off that impression, he nodded amiably at the taller man. "What can I do for you?"

Mason flashed a quick grin, responding easily, "I hear you're always in need of good ranch hands, thought I could apply for a job."

Hollander immediately nodded, "It's true, good ranch hands are hard to find, especially during summer time. You got much experience? The Double Bar-H don't take no greenhorns," he declared, looking Joshua over.

"I had a feeling you'd be asking that," Mason reached inside his duster to withdraw a small piece of paper and offer it to Glen. "I've been spending the last six months working for a fella by the name of Bill Gardner. He said you two were friends from way back."

Taking the note, Hollander grunted, "I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say that we were friends. More like friendly competition, if you get my meaning. So how's Ol' Bill doing, anyway? He still got that same old taste for 'lil Injun girls? He used to go on and on about how much fun they were to ride. Like breaking in a wild mustang, he'd say." He gave Joshua a quick and sly wink before lowering his gaze to read the paper.

The amiable smile remained on Joshua's face, but his eyes had gone cold and hard. He ducked his head slightly and eased his hat back onto his head, the broad brim blocking his expression from view. "Word has it he's been having trouble with that the last couple of years. His… supply chain suffered some setbacks."

The landowner's eyebrows rose with surprise. "Oh? How'd Bill take that?"

"Gardner isn't doin' too good his own self, to be honest," Joshua informed him. "Rustlers and Indians have been hittin' his herds hard recently. A couple of months ago, we found him on the side of the road. Apparently, some bandits thought he'd make good target practice. They robbed him of everything he had on him, even his clothes, and then shot him up good, got him in the arms, legs. Hell they even shot him in the stones."

"Christ almighty," Hollander recoiled at that piece of information.

"He's still alive. Made it through, that is. All of the hits were just through flesh, he didn't get gut shot or anything like that." Mason paused and looked down at his feet, allowing his hat to hide the dark amusement on his face. "Though I guess you could say he's half the man he once was."

Glen cleared his throat nervously, finding himself quite uncomfortable with the subject matter. No man liked to think about getting his balls shot off. He focused his attention on reading the piece of paper. "Well Gardner says here you're a hard worker, and a capable ranch hand, so I'd be happy to hire you on. I pay 30 dollars a month, but I have a ranch house set aside for my cowhands, so you'll be bunkin' down with the rest of the boys." He squinted at Joshua, "Shame you weren't here 'bout a month ago, we coulda used you in the spring round-up."

Mason gave a slight nod, acknowledging, "Outfits can always use extra hands during round-up. Sorry I missed it."

"Well I need to head on back to the ranch anyway," Hollander announced. "Let me get a couple of things from my office here in town, then we'll head on out."

A few minutes later, the two men were on their way out of Bisbee. Hollander tried a couple of times to strike up a friendly conversation with Mason, but the monosyllabic answers he received convinced him that this cowhand was more interested in reaching his destination than in making polite chit chat along the way. He had no problem with that, most ranch hands were more used to the company of their horses and cattle than they were other people anyway, so he allowed his gray stallion to pull a bit ahead of Mason's and give the man some space.

They were still a few miles away from Bisbee when Joshua clicked his tongue at his black horse and then started singing, softly and almost under his breath. "They're gonna hang me in the mornin', a'fore this night is done. They're gonna hang me in the mornin' and I'll never see the sun…"


	2. Sloth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben Wade/Joshua Mason settles into his new job and reflects on his life since Dan Evans died.

Hollander lived a few miles northwest of Bisbee, and it was late afternoon by the time he and Mason reached the Double Bar-H ranch. The ranch consisted of three major structures: the main house, the bunkhouse, and the barn. A smaller building near the bunkhouse had a smoking chimney coming out the top and likely served as the cook shack. The buildings were situated about a quarter mile away from the San Pedro River, and as a result the landscape surrounding the area was surprisingly lush with trees and grasses.

The landowner's house was large, unsurprisingly, given the man's wealth. The two story structure was whitewashed, and had lots of windows. Square brick and stone pillars set about six feet apart helped support the heavy wooden framework, and also elevated the house about two feet off the ground, allowing air to circulate under the building and keep it cooler in the scorching Arizona heat. A large shaded porch extended around the front and sides of the ranch house, and there were a few chairs there for relaxing in after the day's work was done.

In contrast to the sturdy house, the bunkhouse looked like it had been built quickly, and by using materials of far lower quality. Roughly hewn lumber had been masoned together using adobe. It had a few windows, but a couple of the panes had been busted out and never replaced. It likely had been built soon after Hollander claimed the land as his own, and the landowner would have resided there while waiting for the larger ranch house to be built.

The barn was large, yet simple. Most barns had the same basic structure, regardless of where they were built. Stalls, the tack room and grain bin were on the first floor, and the second floor was where hay was kept. A large corral bordered the barn and a few horses dozed there in the shade provided by a large tree whose branches had grown over the fence.

A tall rangy man emerged from the barn and ambled toward Glen and Joshua as they steered their horses into the yard.

"Most of my boys are out on the range," Hollander explained to Mason as the two men dismounted, rather unnecessarily. Most cowboys were only at the ranch house around mealtimes and at night. The rest of the time they were out checking on the herds, and directing them toward where the most food would be found.

Hollander led his horse over to the large water trough near the barn, jerking his chin in the direction of the man walking up, "This here's my foreman and wrangler, Tom Atkins. Atkins, this is Joshua Mason." Glen pushed his horse's reins into the rangy man's hands and ordered, "After he's finished watering his horse, get him set up in the bunkhouse. He starts workin' with you and the boys tomorrow."

Atkins' face was pock-marked and weather-beaten, making his age difficult to guess. He was probably somewhere between forty and fifty, and had a natural squint that made him appear like he was glaring all the time. Then again, judging from the down-turn of the edges of his lips, he was not a man who smiled much, if at all.

"Thank ya kindly, Mr. Hollander," Mason politely said over his shoulder while closely monitoring the rate at which his horse was drinking the water. It wouldn't do either of them any good if the animal came down with colic from drinking too much too fast after such a long ride. A good horse like Dawson was hard to find, and even harder to replace.

The two men finished watering the horses and as Atkins led the way into the barn, he commented, "Didn't know the Boss was gonna be bringin' any new cowhands home with him."

Joshua pursed his lips, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, "I suspect he didn't know he'd be hirin' anyone else on either. I had a note from Bill Gardner. Worked for him this past year, but he's not doin' so well with his herds and had to let a few of us go. Said we might have better luck findin' work here."

Atkins spat at the ground in disgust, "Gardner. Heard'a him. I hear tell he runs a good outfit, if'n you can get past his Injun lovin' ways."

Concentrating on removing the tack from Dawson, Joshua made a noncommittal sound in response. Following Atkins lead to the tack box, he brushed out his black gelding, then released the animal into the corral with the other horses.

"You can put yer saddle in the tack room, or you can take it into the bunkhouse with ya, if that's what you prefer," Atkins stated as he carried Hollander's gear to the tack room.

Joshua waited for the bow-legged man to return, his saddle resting against his hip and saddlebags tossed over his shoulder. A few minutes later, Atkins led him into the smaller building adjacent to the barn. Unsurprisingly, the bunkhouse was cluttered with unused gear and men's clothing. A cowboy might take hours cleaning his saddle and bridle after a hard day's work but that didn't mean he was any good at basic housekeeping.

Atkins paused just inside the doorway, squinting as he peered around the large, open room. "There's a couple o'empty bunks left," he gruffly stated, pointing out two beds on opposite sides of the room. "I'll let you get yerself settled in and have a look around the ranch. Chow's served around six o'clock sharp in the cook shack. If you miss out on dinner, you'll have to git yer own elsewhere." With that, the older man turned on his boot heel and made his way back toward the barn as a bemused Joshua looked on.

After getting his gear stowed, Joshua spent some time learning his way around the ranch before circling back around to the corral. There, he rested his boot on the lowest railing of the fence, lightly clicking his tongue at the small herd of horses there.

Like most wealthy western landowners, Glen Hollander had made the most of the Homesteader Act of 1862 and created his homestead on the largest and most persistent body of water in the area. All homesteaders who moved into this area would be beholden to him to let the creeks and streams continue to flow into their land so that their fields and herds would flourish.

In exchange for those water rights, Hollander made those smaller and invariably poorer homesteads sign contracts that were in effect a rental agreement, but with an important hitch: people who were unable to keep up with their 'water rental' payments forfeited their land. Therefore, every homesteader that gave up on the harsh conditions of ranching in Arizona Territory increased the amount of land Hollander owned.

The most greedy of the men who controlled the water rights immediately dammed up all the creeks and streams bordering their own lands so that no other homesteaders would survive, then allowed their cattle to free range graze on the empty land, in effect claiming it as their own.

Hollander himself had used that tactic in the past when he attempted to force Dan Evans and his family off their small ranch. The railroad man Grayson Butterfield had vowed to Dan that he'd make sure the landowner would keep the water flowing to the Evans' land, but Southern Pacific Railroad had sent their representative to Chicago. With Butterfield's absence, Hollander was apparently trying to renege on his promise.

Grayson Butterfield might no longer be around to make sure that Hollander kept his word, but Joshua Mason was going to add to his short list of 'good deeds done' by making sure that he did.

"That's why I don't mess around with doing anything good, Dan. You do one good deed for somebody, I imagine it's habit forming. Something decent, you see that grateful look in their eyes, I imagine it makes you feel like Christ hisself."

Ben Wade had spoken those words once, never imagining how true they could turn out to be. The man known as Joshua Mason had pondered them many times since they'd been spoken. While Mason would never claim to have become a man of good deeds, certainly he'd given up on doing most of the bad deeds that the outlaw Ben Wade had been so famous for.

Truth be told, he'd already been growing bored with the robberies. After successfully robbing the Southern Pacific Railroad twenty-two times, with each take totaling around 20,000 dollars or more, it wasn't like he'd been doing it for the money. Hell, he still had more than 100,000 of that stashed away in a crevice, deep in Apache country. No, the only reason he'd stuck with it for so long had been for the challenge of it, just to see if he could outsmart the Southern Pacific Railroad and the Pinkertons one more time.

After jumping from the train to his horse before it had even reached Yuma Territorial Prison, he'd gone to Sonora, Mexico, just like he originally intended to do after getting away with the Bisbee stagecoach robbery. He'd tried to settle into his new life, living without worry of pursuit by lawmen or Pinkertons. However, he'd been unable to avoid young gunfighters eager to prove their mettle against the quick draw of the infamous Ben Wade. After the third such encounter during which he'd been drawn on by a boy who couldn't have been more than eighteen, judging from the patchy fuzz on his upper lip, he'd had enough.

Gunfights were rarely fair. He knew that back east, people imagined gunfights going happening like the duels from back in the days when the United States had still been nothing more than a colony of England, where one man called out another, an honorable battle taking place with both men a distance of ten paces from each other. The reality in the West was men would take whatever advantage they could get in a gunfight, even if it meant shooting another man in the back. Wade had felt that itchy tickle between his shoulder blades, instinct warning him that somewhere, someone was drawing a bead on him from the other end of a barrel. It'd saved his life on more than one occasion, and this time was no different.

Afterwards, Ben had looked down and watched the life fade from the boy's pale blue eyes and found himself reminded of Dan Evans and his son, William. He'd been careful to avoid dwelling on the events of that day, despite the lowered whispers and wary fear in the eyes of the people after he had introduced himself as Ben Wade. In fact, he didn't mind being feared, as it made people stay out of his business.

But seeing the blood drain from that boy's lifeless body, the way it'd faded from Dan Evans when he'd been shot, he couldn't help but remember how William Evans had seemed to respect and admire Wade while being so disappointed in his own father's life and decisions. Ben had even tried to use that admiration to his own advantage a couple of times, tried to get the boy to disobey his own father and let him go free.

"Will's started on the path of decency," Dan had said, correctly as it turned out. The boy Wade had just shot in the alley behind that Sonoran saloon had not been so lucky, and it suddenly made him wonder, would William's life be ending the same way if he'd mirrored his life after an outlaw like Ben Wade's? Would he end up like poor, dumb, and utterly loyal Charlie Prince, gunned down by his own boss and the man he considered a friend? Charlie had loved Ben Wade, loved him with an intensity that went beyond admiration and on towards a degree that men didn't talk about out loud. While Ben had never had an interest in Charlie for anything other than his skill with that pair of Scofield pistols, he also had not been above using Charlie's devotion toward him to his own advantage as he saw fit.

Charlie Prince and the rest of Wade's gang had deserved a better life and death than what he'd given them. So did the dead boy in the Mexico back alley, and so had Dan Evans, though that last death had not been by his hand.

Suddenly disgusted with himself, he had drawn the Hand of God from its holster for the last time, exchanging the ebony handled pistol for the standard Colt Army pistol still loosely gripped by the boy he had just killed. Ben Wade left town that night, but it was Joshua Mason that crossed the Rio Grande into Texas a few weeks later.

The restless life of a cowhand appealed to Joshua Mason far more than a sedentary life living and working in a town or city, where more contact with people would increase the likelihood he'd be recognized. He'd done a bit of ranch hand work in his youth before moving on to more illegal activities, but spent a month brushing up on his skills working cattle with the help of an old vaquero in El Paso, Texas.

From there, he drifted from one job to another as cowboys did, before settling for a few months at Bill Gardner's outfit in New Mexico. He hadn't been there a week before he found out about Gardner's 'hobby', of turning Indian girls as young as ten years old into sex slaves. He knew he wasn't the only cowboy in the bunkhouse who had been sickened and incensed as he listened to the girl's screams coming from the main house that night.

Joshua had been filled with something that he could only describe as righteous indignation, an emotion he'd only felt one other time in his life and that'd been when Charlie Prince shot Dan Evans in the back. But where Ben Wade might have said 'The hell with it' and killed Bill Gardner right then and there, and anyone else who got in his way, Joshua Mason was more controlled. More patient.

Ben Wade never hid his face from the crimes he committed, but Joshua Mason used a bandanna and some stealth to turn himself into a nameless vigilante. He tracked down the three men who'd been supplying the girls and killed them before ambushing Gardner when the old man was on his way to town one night. Instead of killing Gardner outright, he'd wanted the pain and fear of death to linger, so had just shot him in the gut, arms, legs, and of course in the balls, then left him to bleed out on the side of the road. Joshua's only regret had been that he couldn't use the Hand of God to deliver Gardner's punishment. That would have been ironically appropriate, for the man whose name meant 'God delivers' using the Hand of God to exact some biblical justice.

Joshua hadn't really expected for Gardner to live after how many times he'd shot him, but somehow the old man survived. Gardner would never use his legs or his pecker again, but Ol' Bill had enough use of one hand to write a letter of merit for the man who'd shot him up in the first place. If that there didn't show God had a sense of humor, Joshua didn't know what would.

It had been curiosity that made him accept the letter for Hollander in the first place. Going back to Bisbee, Arizona would be risky. When he'd been there before, he'd only encountered a few people during his capture and hastily arranged departure from the small town, and most of those people were dead now. Unfortunately, Hollander was one of those remaining alive, although he hadn't been in the landowner's presence for more than a few minutes. Sure, Joshua had changed his name and his dapper dressing style, lost some weight, and his closely trimmed hair made him seem younger, but the face and the eyes were still the same and there was a chance he'd be recognized.

He decided to chance returning to Bisbee anyway, not really intending to hire out with Hollander, but to satisfy his curiosity about what had happened with the Evans family after Dan had died. Had they used that 1000 dollars Butterfield had given them to stay on their small ranch, or used it to pay off debts and start over elsewhere? Their options would be limited though, with the youngest boy having tuberculosis. And if they had chosen to stay, was Butterfield still holding Hollander to his promise, to keep water flowing to the Evans land.

There was a certain audacity about going to Bisbee, though, a challenge to risk being seen and recognized that made him want to go even more, just to see if he could get away with it. Joshua Mason loved challenges just as much as Ben Wade had.

He had the devil's own luck to ride into town just as William Evans himself paused to let him pass before leading a chestnut horse across the road headed in the direction of the blacksmith. Joshua carefully tilted his head, allowing the shadow from the brim of his hat to block his features from being seen clearly by the Evans boy, but fortunately the boy was more focused on the task of getting the horse to the smithy than he was in perusing the faces of passersby.

A few minutes later, he found himself outside the Bisbee Trading Post, listening as a clearly lying Hollander attempted to reassure Alice Evans that he'd check into the problem with the stream blockage. It wasn't until he heard Hollander's words as the Evans' wagon was heading down the road that he made the decision to approach the landowner about the job. While the older man's blue eyes carefully studied Joshua's face, there was no recognition in his eyes or on his face. If there had been…. Well, luckily the Mexican border was only a few miles away.

At the sound of horses approaching in the distance, Joshua gave Dawson one last pat on the neck before ambling around the corral fence toward the barn Atkins was just emerging from. The other cowboys had started to return from the range in time for dinner.

Hollander had a steady crew of nine cowhands working for him at the ranch, not including Joshua or Atkins. During the spring roundup of course, he'd had probably a couple dozen more, but those men were now helping drive the cattle west to market in California before the summer heat of late June really set in. None of them were familiar to Joshua, but that was unsurprising given the growing number of ranch workers in the west. The men varied widely in age, because in general as long as a man was healthy enough to do the work required, his age made no difference.

It only took a couple of days to learn the routine at the Double Bar-H ranch. Mornings, the hands went to the cook shack for breakfast, and then were paired off by Atkins to check on the cattle. They came home occasionally for lunch and always were at the cook shack in time dinner. Four men were assigned to go back out and follow the herd through the night to ward away rustlers. They'd stay out with the cattle all night, sleeping in bedrolls or in the saddle. The night-crew swapped every other day.

Because Joshua was new to the outfit, he was paired off with a different man every day, who would take him around to other areas of Hollander's land to familiarize him with the landscape around the ranch. Contact with Glen Hollander was fairly limited, and he was fine with that. Less face to face contact between the two men would decrease the chances of his being recognized as Ben Wade by that much more. The landowner usually was in his office in town during the day and in his ranch house at night. He largely ignored the cowhands working for him, with the exception of Atkins.

Joshua had been at the Double Bar-H for about a week before Atkins paired him off with a younger cowboy by the name of Lester Holmes. He'd already had to do a couple of night shifts with Holmes, and spending an entire day alone with him was not anything a sane man would look forward to. Holmes was crude, loud, and lazy, and those were his better qualities. He was also so stupid that Joshua seriously doubted the man was bright enough to pour piss out of a boot with directions on the heel. Then again, it was unlikely Holmes could read anyway.

Luckily, while locating the eastern part of Hollander's herd, the two men had to range their horses far enough apart that Joshua was saved from having to listen to Holmes natter on. Once the longhorns were located slowly making their way toward a copse of trees surrounding a creek, his luck ran out.

"Kinda old to be driving cattle still, aintcha Mason?" Holmes commented as he leaned forward and rested his elbow on the saddle horn as the horses slowly followed the cattle. He made a pig-like snorking sound before hawking a gob of spit at the ground.

Shrugging, Joshua mildly pointed out, "Ike Scott is at least ten years older than I am." Scott was one of the other men employed by Hollander, a short gnarled man who looked as though he'd been born and bred in the saddle.

Holmes brayed out a laugh that startled the cattle nearby into a trot. "Shee-yit, Scott's older'n dirt, ain't that the truth."

Joshua tensed briefly as the cattle picked up their pace from the sound, knowing lesser things could cause a stampede, but fortunately the longhorns were more interested in reaching water than they were in stampeding. They slowed when they reached the grove of trees and meandered around, jostling each other as they waded into the water and drank deeply.

"You come down from New Mexico, right? Ain't that what you told Atkins last night?" Holmes squinted at him and guided his horse toward the water as well, though a slight distance off from the cattle.

"Yep," Joshua responded briefly, but his attention was on the ground around them. The entire area around the creek was under a couple of inches of water… well mud now, as the cattle had churned the soil around the trees with their hooves. Either way, it looked as though this section of the creek had flooded out. He knew that it hadn't rained in the past few days, so there was no good reason for the water to have spilled over the bank.

Holmes smirked as he loosened his horse's reins to allow the animal to drink the muddied water. "A reg'lar flood we got us goin' on here, don't we? Ain't that a shame," he said insincerely and jerked his head toward the east, where there was a rocky outcropping just past the trees the creek wound through. Large rocks, sticks and mud were packed from one side of the little stream to the other. Water pooled behind the makeshift dam, creating a large flat pool that covered the area in a hundred foot radius.

"Don't see no signs of beavers," Joshua observed, examining the trees nearby for signs that the large rodents were the culprits behind the dam as he allowed Dawson at the water. There'd been a few trees recently felled in the area, but instead of being ringed to points the way beaver teeth would chew, they'd been clearly cut from a single side the way a man using an axe would chop.

Flashing a broad grin that revealed coffee and tobacco stained yellow teeth, Holmes guffawed at that. "Beavers? Oh yeah, beavers dun' that. Beavers usin' axes, that is. Hollander set Atkins and I to dammin' 'er up a coupl'a weeks past." He peered at the dam, "Looks like we didn't get it high 'nuff, some o'the water's still tricklin' through."

Joshua pursed his lips thoughtfully and clicked at his black horse, directing him toward the dam for a closer look. Water was indeed leaking through the poorly constructed dam, but it was still early June. By the time July rolled around, the water levels would likely dry up so much that not even a trickle would make it through to the land on the other side. He glanced sidelong at Holmes, who had ridden up beside him. "Hollander tryin' to dry out the homesteaders over yonder 'n force them out?"

"Pshaw," Holmes shook his head, "No, ain't but one homesteader ranch that way, and that's the Evans widow 'n her two boys. Naw, th' Boss's got hisself somethin' else in mind for her."

"Oh? Like what?" Joshua inquired with genuine curiosity.

Holmes sniggered, "He's dun decided to up and marry the woman, can ya believe that? I heard him tell Atkins that she'd been grievin' for that dead bootlickin' husband o'hers long enough and he was gonna show her what bein' married to a real man was like. Doan get me wrong, Alice Evans is as purty a woman as you'll see out here… green eyes and purty blond hair… hell pack a bit more meat on her and she'd outshine all the girls up at Brody's place, 'ceptin' Connie, o'course." Connie was his favorite ride at Brody's whorehouse in Bisbee. "Connie's got the purtiest smile in all of Arizona Territory, I tell ya."

Joshua doubted that any whore would ever be able to hold a candle to the delicate beauty of Alice Evans. He suddenly realized with disappointment that he'd never seen her smile. "She sounds like a keeper," was all he said to Holmes, keeping his expression bland as he turned Dawson back toward the herd. The longhorns had drunk their fill and were now moving further upstream to where the ground was drier, content to mill around grazing. Some laid down in the shade, chewing their cud lazily.

"Whelp, looks like they ain't goin' anywheres for a while," Holmes stated, dismounting and digging in his saddlebag for some jerky to eat.

Climbing off Dawson, Joshua took the opportunity to eat some jerky and biscuits leftover from breakfast as well. Enduring Holmes rambling about his apparently legendary bedroom exploits with Connie killed most of his appetite though. He fended off direct conversation with the younger man by inserting vague responses like "Uh-hunh" and "That right?" now and again to indicate he was listening.

After about thirty minutes, Holmes finally shut up, but only because he couldn't sleep and talk at the same time – as far as Joshua knew anyway. The sandy-haired cowboy settled up against some rocks under the shade of a tree and was snoring almost before his eyes were closed, head tilted back and mouth gaping open like a fish dying on dry land.

Thankful for the silence, Joshua took the opportunity to clean up after himself and stowed his uneaten food back in the saddlebags. He then relieved himself and afterwards, washed his hands in the cool water of the stream.

The cattle were beginning to rouse themselves, slowly clambering to their feet and ready to move on to grazing area.

Holmes was still slumbering away and Joshua spoke the man's name quietly. "Holmes. Cattle're movin' on."

A grumble was the other man's only response.

"Holmes," Mason said again, louder this time as he picked up Dawson's reins. "Time to git a move on and wake up."

Holmes finally stirred enough to open his eyes and glare back at him. "I heard you the first time. Now shut the hell up and let me sleep, them damn beeves ain't goin' far anyway." He shifted position, pulling his hat lower down over his brow and rolled slightly to his side to go back to sleep.

Joshua allowed the briefest thought of using a fork on Holmes the way he'd used one on Hollander's previous man Tucker to flicker through his mind, but shook his head. While it'd make him feel a hell of a lot better, it wouldn't really do him much good in the long run. He sighed, cocking his head slightly as he regarded the dozing Holmes again and debated just leaving him behind.

One of the verses from Proverbs suddenly came to mind, and he softly quoted, "How long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard? When wilt thou arise out of thy sleep? Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep: So shall thy poverty come as one that travelleth, and thy want as an armed man."

The barest flicker of movement edging from the rocks Holmes was resting against caught Joshua's eye. A shiny black head no bigger than his pinkie finger emerged from a crack in the rocks behind the sleeping cowhand. The red, yellow and black striped body followed a moment later. The coral snake's black tongue flickered nervously, tasting the air as it began to slither along the folds of Holmes' shirt and up toward his shoulder.

Temperament wise, Joshua knew that coral snakes were some of the most docile snakes a man have the misfortune to run across, however they also happened to be one of the most poisonous as well. "Holmes…" he began to say, but was interrupted almost immediately.

"Goddammit, Mason, I said shut up and let me sleep!" Holmes growled out without opening his eyes.

The snake paused briefly, disturbed by the vibrations caused by the man speaking, continued up toward his bandanna-wrapped neck.

Joshua watched it with interest. It was a beautiful creature, small and incredibly deadly. He debated getting out paper and charcoal to sketch it, but decided against it as he had no desire to put any part of Lester Holmes, even just his shirt sleeve, on paper.

The coral snake reached the shoulder, and as it glided silently across the fabric of his bandanna, the movement must have tickled or itched because with an irritated sound, Holmes grumbled and brushed at the snake on his shoulder. Quick as lightning, the snake sank its teeth into the back of his hand, hanging on for a brief second before releasing. It then darted into a larger crevice behind the young man's back.

Lester sat up, looking around himself with some confusion and then at his grimy hand. Dirt must have concealed the bite mark, for he did nothing more than shake out his hand before climbing to his feet. "Damnable horseflies. Christ almighty, it's hard enough tryin' to catch some shuteye with you starin' at me even without getting bitten by one of those damn things. Fine, fine, let's go." Sulking, he grabbed the reins of his bay gelding and mounted up, trotting off toward the herd of longhorns.

Allowing the slightest smile to touch his lips, Joshua tightened the cinch around Dawson's girth and mounted up. He adjusted his hat and clucked at the black horse. "Time to work."

A few hours later, Holmes was so disoriented he could barely stay upright in his saddle. He lurched from side to side, mumbling to himself about horseflies. When he abruptly leaned over and vomited violently, Joshua decided they would head back to the Bar-H a little earlier than normal. As tempting as it was, he doubted that Atkins and Hollander would take it well if he just left his 'partner' Lester out on the range to die. He grabbed the bay horse's reins and returned them both to the ranch.

Atkins was finishing up working with one of the younger horses in the small pen behind the barn. He looked over and scowled as Joshua and Holmes rode into the yard. They were back from the range a good two hours earlier than normal.

Holmes was listing heavily in the saddle, and as his bay came to a halt beside Dawson, the young man finally just keeled over, landing on the ground with a thud. He blinked up at Joshua and tried to sit up, his words slurred. "Goddammin' horshfliesss…"

When Atkins saw that, he leaped over the fence and hurried over to them. "Christ, what happened? He get shot up by rustlers or something?" the wrangler demanded, but there was no obvious blood to be seen anywhere on Holmes' body.

Dismounting, Joshua merely shrugged, "I got no idea what's wrong with him. 'Bout an hour ago, he started yammerin' bout horseflies and puked on himself. He could barely stay upright in the saddle enough for me to get him back here…"

Atkins dazedly tried to prop himself up on his elbow, mumbling, "'s thoss damnashin horshfliesss… un gotta bit-ta my hand…" and held out his hand. The fleshy edge of his hand was mildly swollen, but that was the only sign he'd been bitten.

"Shee-yit…" Atkins straightened, looking down at Holmes, who barely had enough presence of mind to roll over before retching again. "I've seen the like'a this before. He got bit by a damn coral snake. Son of a bitch…" he cursed.

"A coral snake?" Joshua feigned surprise. "You sure? He never once acted like he got bit… wouldn't he have known if he got bit?"

Holmes writhed on the ground, "Twern't no snake, 'as a horshfly… Muh'hand's cold…" His hand may have felt cold, but both Atkins and Joshua could see that the younger man was soaked in sweat.

Atkins cursed again and ordered, "Help me get him into the bunkhouse… poison's already dun'gotten into him, so won't do no good to suck or lance it out." He got on Holmes' left side and heaved him upwards, as Joshua grabbed the man's right arm. They worked together to get Lester into the bunkhouse, leaving the horses where their reins fell for now.

They barely got Holmes into his bunk before he started convulsing and gasped, his skin turning slightly blue. There was not much either man watching could do, even if they had wanted to. The snake's poison was starting to shut down Holmes' ability to breath. The convulsing stopped shortly after that, however, and he breathed shallowly, his eyes half-lidded and drooping.

"Seen a man get bit by a rattlesnake once… he said it was like hammering a nail through his foot," Joshua quietly said. "Never known someone get bit by a coral snake though. Figure a man'd know if he got bit by a snake that dangerous."

"Pfft, to hear tell, a coral snake bite ain't no worse'n gettin' poked with a pin. The thing is, they ain't mean like yer regular ol' rattlesnake or moccasin. Ya damn near gotta grab it and beg a coral snake to bite ya," Atkins grumbled, shaking his head. "There's no point in callin' the doc. He'll either live, or he'll be dead by morning, the dumb shit." Disgusted, he shook his head and went back outside.

Glen Hollander had just ridden in from Bisbee, and his eyebrows were drawn together in a frown at the unusual sight of the two horses left just standing there in front of the barn. "What's going on?" he demanded, looking from Joshua to Atkins.

"Lester Holmes done gone and got hisself bitten by a coral snake," Atkins informed him. "We got 'em in the bunkhouse for now."

"A coral snake?" Hollander blinked incredulously. "Hot damn, what'd he do, sing and dance on its head? He gonna make it?"

Joshua shrugged unknowingly, "I didn't even know he'd got himself bit. He told me he got bit by a horsefly."

Atkins spat at the ground, "Only Lester Holmes would be damned stupid enough to mistake a coral snake bite for a horsefly, that's the damned truth. If he makes it through the night, he might could live… but he's already having trouble breathin', and that don't speak well for his chance a'makin' it."

"Shit," Hollander scowled. "Well, guess it's a good thing you came to the Double Bar-H when you did, Mason. Looks like I'd a been lookin' for another man anyways."

"Glad to help out as I can, Boss." Joshua flashed a quick smile and ducked his head as though in modesty.

"In fact…" Hollander continued, looking from him to Atkins, "I want both of you ready to ride out of here in a few minutes. I got something I've been meaning to get to for a week or two now."

Atkins nodded obediently. He took the reins of Holmes' bay horse and began leading the animal to the barn.

"Where're we headin', Mr. Hollander?" Joshua asked as he collected Dawson's reins. "Back to town?"

Hollander's grin was all teeth, wolfish and sly. "No, we're goin' over to the Evans ranch. I'm wanting to check up on my future herd, which includes two hear-ford bulls… and one green-eyed heifer." Looking pleased with his clever pun, he pushed his horse's reins into Mason's hands and headed toward his large house. "I'll be back shortly, need to get somethin' real fast."

Joshua hesitated for the barest moment before he responded quietly, "Yes sir." He led Hollander's grey stallion and his own horse over to the watering trough for a quick drink and considered his options as he waited for the other two men to return.

Ben Wade may have been successful thus far in hiding behind another man's name with Hollander, but a shave and a haircut wouldn't be nearly to conceal his identity from a face to face meeting with the Evans. Still, as the Book of Proverbs said, "By mercy and truth, iniquity is purged: and by the fear of the Lord men depart from evil." That seemed fitting somehow and reassuring all at once. After all, the Lord did work in mysterious ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia & Notes:  
> The first Bible quote from Proverbs is from the King James Version of Proverbs 6:9. The second is from Proverbs 16:6.  
> The Homesteader Act of 1862 was signed into law by President Abraham Lincoln with the intent to encourage families to help develop the land out west. It was referenced in the novel and television show "Little House on the Prairie" and in the Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman movie "Far and Away." Homesteading came to a legal end in the 1970s (which was way later than I would have imagined! My mom could have taken advantage of it when I was a child!), though the last official homestead claim wasn't processed until the 1980s in Alaska.  
> Most Arizona cattle were driven west to California. The drives usually were done right after the spring roundup in May, and usually took a couple of months to complete (cattle travel about 10 miles a day on average). I tried to find concrete numbers on how many men would be 'steady hands' at a ranch like Hollander's but was unable to do so. 8-10 men seemed like an arbitrary number to me that was neither too small or too large, so I ran with it.  
> Curious piece of trivia. May and June are actually two of the driest months of the year in the Bisbee Arizona area. July and August are two of the wettest months. That seems rather backwards to me, but hey, that's what climate reports and records from the National Weather Service website tell me.  
> The coral snake is one of the most docile snakes in the United States, and ironically also the most deadly. There are reports of children playing with the 'pretty snake' with out being bitten. It's basically a member of the cobra family of snakes, and the poison is a neurotoxin. Unlike a rattlesnake which basically punches venom into you, coral snakes teeth are so small they often leave little more than an abrasion on the surface of the skin, and only areas like fingers and soft flesh are vulnerable to being pierced. A pin-prick would likely hurt worse than the bite of a coral snake.


	3. Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwelcome guests show up at the Evans farm

Alice added a couple of logs to the woodstove, using a poker to spread the coals around the wood to ensure an even burn, before she straightened with a sigh and looked around the kitchen. The bread was rising nicely, and would be finished baking by the supper time.

The woodbin was spared a quick and evaluating glance accompanied by a grimace. There wasn't nearly enough wood in it to last all the way through supper, so she headed outside to get more, with the poker still in her hand.

It was nearly four in the afternoon, and the worst of the sun's heat had finally started to ease off. Mark was in the barn mucking the stalls. When he finished that chore, he'd be heading out to meet Will on the range and direct the cattle back to the Evans homestead for the evening.

The dwindling amount of usable firewood under the lean-to behind the house elicited another sigh from Alice. There were logs aplenty drying in the sun near the shed, but they were all waiting to be split into smaller pieces suitable for use in a cooking fire. If Will didn't get a chance to do it when he returned from the range, she'd have to do it herself. Mark didn't quite have height and reach enough to swing the ax with the leverage necessary to chop wood efficiently yet.

That was all right, even though chopping would add to an already lengthy list of daily chores. Despite being what many would consider 'men's work' Alice enjoyed splitting logs far more than she did some of her other chores, like making lye soap and washing clothes.

Alice gave the small pile of firewood a few experimental jabs with the poker before using the hooked end to flip one of the split logs over. There was nothing underneath that first log but as she flipped another over, a large pale scorpion skittered out from between, tail raised high and ready to strike. There was no point in killing it, because even if she did, no doubt there'd be another one to take its place before the day ended. Arizona had no shortage of scorpions.

A smile curved her lips as she recalled a far more memorable encounter with Arizona scorpions, soon after they'd arrived from Massachusetts. One had been crawling on the house's ceiling and when Dan had gone to knock it down with a broom, it seemed to break into pieces upon hitting the floor. Tiny scorpions scattered in every direction at the impact, causing both of them to shriek in surprise. Well, Alice had shrieked. Dan had only cursed. Very loudly. That had been an interesting lesson learned, that scorpion mothers carried their babies on their back for protection.

_They were just trying to survive the best way they can, like everything else here in Arizona_ , Alice thought to herself, staring at the scorpion in front of the woodpile. She let the venomous little creature scurry away and continued using the poker to check the rest of the logs for any other varmints, with no more success. Satisfied, Alice set the poker aside and begin piling wood up in her arms to carry inside.

She'd just finished her fourth such trip and was walking out the door of the house when she saw two, no make that three horsemen approaching from the west. Alice lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the afternoon sun as she tried to identify the riders. The man in the slate grey Townsend hat was almost certainly Glen Hollander, and the landowner rarely went out 'visiting' without his surly wrangler, Tom Atkins. The third man riding the black horse seemed familiar to her from what she could see of his features at the distance, but she couldn't quite place him. No doubt it was one of Hollander's other ranch hands.

_Well, at least isn't Lester Holmes_ , was Alice's initial thought as she brushed bark and dust from the firewood off her clothing and watched the men draw up their horses in the yard.

Mark had heard the men arrive as well, for he emerged from the barn still holding the shovel in his hand. He rested it against the barn door and walked toward his mother, reaching her side just as the arrivals began to dismount.

The black horse's rider was the first to reach the ground, and he immediately went to take the reins of Hollander's stallion, turning his back somewhat toward Alice and Mark in the process.

Atkins merely stood there, taciturn as ever, as he watched his boss make his way toward the Evans.

"Afternoon, Alice," Glen tipped his hat to her and smiled, before adding a cooler greeting for her youngest son. "Mark."

"Mr. Hollander," the twelve year old immediately returned, crossing his arms in front of him.

The landowner's warm smile and informal use of her first name were far too familiar for Alice's taste but she kept her expression neutral as she inclined her head graciously. "Mr. Hollander." Her green eyes slid away from the landowner to the men with him, and she politely welcomed Hollander's right-hand man first, "Mr. Atkins," with a slight nod before greeting the third man, who had just now turned to face them. "Mr…"

Her mind went blank as she saw those unmistakably familiar mocking blue-green eyes and that small sardonic smile. _Dear God, it's Ben Wade_ , was all she could think.

Glen took her sudden silence as a hint for him to supply the other man's name. "This here's Joshua Mason. I hired him outta Bisbee a week or so ago."

"Mr. Mason," Alice repeated and was amazed that her voice sounded almost normal, though her mind was racing. Had Hollander knowingly hired Wade on to be another one of his thugs, a blunt tool that could be used to carry out the 'dirty work' the landowner was known for? But the name Ben Wade was too notorious, too famous to carry on without some repercussions from the lawmen in the area. So he'd been forced to change his name and take on an alias that the landowner could use to lessen the danger of the famous outlaw being recognized.

Wade… No, Mason… Joshua Mason smiled at her, lightly tipping his hat, "Mrs. Evans." His voice seemed even more velvety smooth than she remembered.

Mark was staring hard at the man and his eyes flew open with recognition. He blurted, "Ma, ain't that…"

"Mark!" Alice said sharply, interrupting him before he could say another word. As her son tore his eyes away from Mason's face to look at her, she told him, "Why don't you help Mr. Atkins and Mr. Mason get their horses watered before you get back to your chores." She lifted her chin slightly, using nothing but her force of will to hold her son's gaze long enough to convey to him what she couldn't say out loud. _Don't say it. Not right now._

The boy faltered. "But…" he began, his eyes flickering from Hollander to Atkins and finally to Mason again.

Alice grasped her son's thin shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Just do as I say. You've got work to do, and you'll need to be helping your brother bring the herd in shortly." She cast a quick glance at Joshua Mason but rather than seeing smug satisfaction in the man's eyes at being recognized, Alice saw worry, though the pleasant smile remained on the fugitive's face. For some reason she could not fathom, Ben Wade did not want his real name revealed, and that meant that Glen Hollander had no idea who he'd actually hired on as a cowhand.

Mark hesitated, peering back up at his mother with worried eyes before he nodded. "Yes ma'am." She released her grip and allowed Mark to step down from the plank porch, watching as he went over and claimed the reins Atkins offered him. The boy turned to Joshua as well and held his small hand out expectantly for the reins the man held.

Joshua shook his head. "Lead on," he said amiably, making a slight gesture with one hand that indicated his intention to follow the boy to the watering trough.

Mark paused again and then squared his shoulders. "It's over here," he said unnecessarily, for the basin was in plain sight a few feet away from the large corral by the barn.

Fighting down her worry, Alice watched the two walk off toward the stone trough by the barn.

Hollander watched them walk away as well, and his expression was both confused and suspicious.

"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Hollander," Alice drew the landowner's attention back toward her, giving him an apologetic smile for good measure. "It's just…." Her voice trailed off and she pursed her lips, trying to think a plausible excuse for the boy's behavior. "It's just that your man, well, he looks a lot like someone we used to know a few years back."

Giving her a quick nod of understanding, Glen peered over toward Mason again, and now Atkins looked that way as well. "You know, I thought he looked a tad familiar my own self, but I couldn't quite place his face. What was the name of the feller he holds a likeness to?" he asked curiously. "Perhaps I've seen him around town recently or something?"

Alice forced a rueful smile to appear on her face and shook her head. "I doubt it. The man we know has been dead for at least two years. No, it's far more likely that Mr. Mason just has one of those faces that just seems familiar, even if you've never seen the man in your life." She waved a hand dismissively for emphasis and added, "Besides, people like us don't exactly move in the same social circles as you do, Mr. Hollander. And speaking of which, if you'll forgive me if I sound impertinent, but what brings you out this way? "

The abrupt question drew Hollander's eyes back toward her and away from Mark and Joshua Mason, just as she had intended. Sometimes it paid to be rude. She continued, "I hope you and your men have come to inform me that the little problem with our creek is now resolved and the water is rushing toward our land even as we speak?"

Hollander was definitely focusing all of his attention on her now. He struggled to suppress his irritation and forced out a smile that came nowhere near reaching his eyes. "Now Alice," he said condescendingly, "I told you that I would have my boys look into it, and I have. Why, Atkins here only told me this morning that he believes they've found the problem, ain't that right?"

The wrangler drawled out from just behind the landowner, "Yup, sure did." Atkins ducked his head to spit at the ground, using a dirty hand to wipe his mouth afterwards. "Told the boss just this mornin' that it looks like some beavers done gone 'n dammed up the creek." His gimlet eyes dared her to contradict him.

"Beavers," Alice repeated, looking between the two men. Her brow furrowed as she considered that possibility. While the large rodents weren't as common in Arizona Territory as they were in other parts of the country, she knew they occasionally appeared around waterways in this area. Even though she didn't really believe that beavers were the reason for the creek being dammed, she couldn't call either man on the potential bluff without evidence otherwise. "I see."

"Now I know you probably don't know this, but a beaver dam ain't no small thing to get rid of," Glen informed her. "I'll get some of my boys workin' on tearing the thing down, but it's gonna take some time."

Alice nodded understandingly, "Of course, I've heard that beaver dams can be quite complex." She thought quickly and offered, "If it'd make things go a little faster, I can always send Mark or William over to help your men out."

The unexpected proposal caught Hollander off guard and he blinked rapidly before shaking his head. "Ah, no thank you. I've got men enough to get it taken care of, and your boys have a hard enough time taking up the slack around here with no man around to help them."

Resisting the urge to smile at his reaction, Alice shrugged, "We've done just fine for ourselves these past two years, thank you very much." She spared a glance over to the watering trough where Mason and Mark were still watering the horses. They seemed to be talking quietly but were too far away to listen in on. "Well, if your men haven't got it cleared up in the next week or so, I'll send them over to help out anyway. High summer's nearly here and we need the water. You've got enough cattle that I'm sure you don't want to spare your men any longer than you have to on such a minor task."

Glen appeared to be biting the inside of his mouth in irritation, as there was no plausible reason he could use to delay clearing the dam, regardless of whether or not it had been erected by man or animal. Grudgingly he finally nodded, but his blue eyes were hard. "It'll be cleared up by this time next week. I'll have Atkins put a couple of men on it first thing in the morning."

Atkins snorted derisively but said nothing. The rangy man would do whatever Hollander told him to, as long as he got paid.

A slight smile curved Alice's lips at her victory. "Thank you very much Mr. Hollander." She looked between the two men, arcing an eyebrow upwards, "Well I appreciate you coming to tell me about the dam, but I really need to be getting supper on soon." It wasn't entirely a lie, though she had about an hour more before she really needed to get started on it. She did have more firewood to carry in, but she refused to do it while Hollander and his men were there.

"Actually…" Glen drew the word out, looking around the small homestead, "I was hoping to get a look at those hear-ford bulls you've got. I'm getting a mite tired of just hearin' about them, wanted to see 'em myself."

That caught Alice by surprise. "You want to see Castor and Pollux?"

"No, I want to see those new bulls you got… wait, you named them?" Hollander's expression was disbelieving.

Atkins snickered derisively at that, conveying his thoughts quite clearly. Only a woman would name cattle.

Drawing herself up defensively, Alice nodded. "Yes, we named them, because…" She debated explaining the reasoning behind naming the bulls after the ancient twins to the two men but decided it'd be a waste of breath. "Nevermind. William's got Pollux out with the herd today, but Castor is in the barn. I'll have Mark bring him out." She stepped off the porch and began walking toward her son and Joshua Mason.

Glen and Tom Atkins exchanged a long glance before following a few steps behind her.

Joshua tugged on the reins of Dawson and Hollander's grey stallion as he followed Mark over to the watering basin. So far, the visit to the Evans homestead had gone just about as he'd anticipated, though for a moment there he'd been worried the boy would reveal his identity to Hollander.

There were only a few visible changes to the small ranch since that night he'd eaten dinner there as a prisoner in chain cuffs. A new barn stood where the burnt-out rubble of the old one had been, and the corral near it was significantly larger but everything else was the same.

Mark allowed his horse to drink alongside Joshua's for a few moments before he quietly said, "Mr. Hollander don't know who you really are, does he?" The boy peeked up at him from under the edge of his granger hat.

"No, he doesn't." Joshua's expression was solemn as he met the boy's gaze from over Dawson's neck.

A slight frown of confusion appeared on Mark's face. "But I thought I remembered Pa saying he was there when the lawmen got you in the saloon back when? Don't he remember you from that?"

Joshua shrugged, "He only saw me for a couple of minutes then, and I look different now."

The boy snorted with disbelief. "You don't look all that different. I recognized you right away, an' so did Ma."

Considering that for a moment, Joshua spoke in a low voice as he explained, "A wealthy man like Hollander, well sometimes they get so puffed up with themselves and with how important they are that they don't look beyond the end of their nose. So they don't see what's standin' right in front of them." He looked back over his shoulder to where the landowner was still in conversation with Alice. He didn't know what they were discussing, but something had Hollander bristling like a porcupine.

"How come you don't want Mr. Hollander knowin' who you are?" Mark asked curiously. "You think he'll call lawmen down on you?"

Joshua allowed a slight smile to touch his lips, "That, and I killed his man Tucker, remember? I don't think he'd be taking kindly to that."

Mark's small face twisted with hatred at the name. "Yeah, but Tucker burned down our barn. He was a bad man."

"So am I," Joshua reminded the boy with sardonic amusement.

Suddenly uncertain, Mark shifted his green eyes away from Joshua's and frowned with consternation. It was true, Ben Wade was a bad man as well, but at the same time it was a different kind of bad from Tucker. He didn't really know what to say, so kept quiet instead and concentrated on watering Atkins' horse.

Joshua found himself almost disappointed by the boy's silence but did not have much time to reflect on why.

Alice, Glen and Atkins were walking toward them.

When she saw the conflicted expression on Mark's face, Alice could not help but wonder what he and Joshua Mason had been talking about before they'd walked up. That question would have to wait until after their guests took their leave.

"Mark," she called, "Would you go get Castor? Mr. Hollander would like to have a look at him."

The boy nodded, a smile brightening his expression at the request. He looped Atkins' gelding's reins around the fence railing and hurried off to the barn.

Joshua led the two horses in his charge away from the trough and lashed them to the wooden fence as well before walking up to stand beside Atkins and his 'boss'. They all looked at the back of the corral where it met the barn, waiting expectantly for the boy to release the bull.

A few moments passed and Glen glanced at Alice, one eyebrow raised. "Well? He gonna let him out, or what?"

Alice started to respond but before she could speak, Mark appeared in the corral with Castor. However, the boy was not leading the huge bull as she had expected, but riding on his back. Though irritated at first by her son's flamboyant display, it quickly turned to true amusement when she saw the incredulous expression on Glen Hollander's face. A genuine smile blossomed on her face as she watched Mark parade the bull around the corral.

Hollander watched in silent disbelief as the twelve year old boy used a loose-fitting halter to guide the bull across the corral as though the animal was nothing more than a well-trained draft horse rather than a massive animal that probably weighed nearly three thousand pounds. However, where a longhorn bull was all horns, hide, and lean ropy muscle, the red and white Hereford was broad shoulders, bulging muscles and wide haunches. The bull had horns, but they were small and blunt, especially considering the size of the animal's head.

A smile still curving her lips, Alice glanced up at the speechless Hollander, and the equally dumbfounded Atkins standing just beyond him as they gawked at the spectacle in front of them.

Joshua Mason was not staring at Mark and the bull, but at her. More specifically, at her mouth. His expression was unreadable.

She shivered and flushed, looking away as she drew in a deep breath and carefully schooled her features to a serene calm. "Mark, that's quite enough," she called to her son, who was still proudly perched on Castor's back.

Mark's thin shoulders slumped with disappointment, but he slid expertly down the enormous bull's flank to the ground, grinning with pride. Loosening one end of the rope to make a more traditional halter instead of a makeshift bridle, he led the bull over toward the fence. The great beast was even more impressive up close. It ignored the men but extended his nose toward Alice, trying to reach her through the wooden slats.

Glen finally spoke in a strangled voice, "That's… quite some bull you got there, Alice." He coughed slightly, trying to regain his composure.

"Thank you, Mr. Hollander," Alice said and scratched the white hair on the bridge of Castor's nose. "We're quite pleased with him. Of course he's not quite fully mature yet but…"

Even the normally taciturn Atkins couldn't hold his peace at that. "Ya mean to tell me he ain't fully grown yet?" he asked skeptically.

Mark shook his head, climbing up on the fence so that he was more of an equal with the wrangler's height as he answered, "Nope. He's just three now, so he has a bit more maturing to do, Ma says."

Hollander dubiously eyed the bull. "Just three." Longhorn bulls matured at a far slower rate than that, and had a lot less muscle to show for it. "He come here this big then? You just been feeding him grain to get him this big, or grazin' him as well?" He reached through the fence, experimentally touching the side of the bull's neck, trying to determine whether or not the bull was merely fat or as well muscled as it seemed.

"When Mr. Butterfield had them shipped to us, they were both smaller than they are now, yes," Alice explained, peering up at the landowner, who now stood on her immediate left.

Glen nodded with smug satisfaction, "So it was really Grayson Butterfield who told you to get 'em. Figured it was somethin' like that." Even a smart woman like Alice Evans wouldn't have enough sense to know a good bull if she saw one, and her two boys definitely lacked the experience and years of knowledge that a man like him had. Butterfield, even though he was a railroad man, probably had enough contact with big ranchers in the know that he'd told her what to get and why.

Alice stiffened at his words but continued in an even tone, "We do feed them grain, but they've been doing surprisingly well grazing with the other cattle on the range. We had a good spring though, and plenty of rain. A dry summer, they might not fare as well as a longhorn might." A worried frown marred her features but she shook the pessimistic thought away.

"You ever seen these hear-fords back when you were in New Mexico, Mason? " the landowner suddenly asked, looking at his newest cowhand.

"They've been shippin' most all of 'em out from Illinois. Bill Gardner was planning on adding a few bulls to his herd when he…" Joshua paused, his blue-green eyes flickering to Alice before he continued carefully, "when he had that streak of bad luck I told you about." He approached the bull from Alice's right and extended his hand toward the bull's nose. It blew warm air on the back of his hand and then licked his skin.

Mark snickered, "He does that. Ma says it's cause our sweat tastes salty to him and he likes salt."

A suddenly nervous Alice found herself sandwiched between the two men. Not close enough to touch her, of course, but far too close for her comfort at the same time, though they both had their attention on Castor. She skittered back away from the fence and put a few feet of space between herself and the men. "Is your curiosity satisfied, Mr. Hollander?" she inquired, tilting her head as she awaited the man's response.

"I 'spose so," Glen said, straightening up and turning to face her. He took off his hat and scratched his balding grey head, "I gotta say, you got a pretty impressive bull here." An easy grin appeared on his face, "Hell, I'm near bout envious."

Joshua was rubbing Castor's poll now, and quietly said, "Envy is the rottenness of bones." He glanced up at Mark, who was still perched on the fence. "Proverbs 14:30," he added with a slight smile for the boy's benefit.

Atkins was already untying his horse and led it a few steps away from the fence. "Mason."

His name had an implied order to it. Joshua gave the bull a last pat on the nose and went over to unhitch Dawson and the gray stallion from the fence.

"Thank you again for letting us know about the situation with the creek, Mr. Hollander," Alice said politely. "We're looking forward to seeing our creek free flowing again."

Glen smiled at her, "Why you're welcome, Alice." He took the reins to his grey from Joshua and used the stirrup to lever himself into the saddle. "You take care of yourself and those bulls, and if you get a chance, you feel free to think of appropriate ways to thank me." He leered at her, giving her a sly wink before wheeling his horse to head back to his ranch, Atkins' chestnut a few steps behind.

Joshua mounted Dawson and used his free hand to tilt his hat in her direction. "Pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Evans," he said, that mischievous smile appearing on his face again. He added another nod for Mark before clicking his tongue at his black horse and directing it after Hollander.

The mother and son watched them go. When they were out of sight, Alice exhaled slowly, releasing tension she hadn't even realized she was holding in.

Mark climbed down from the fence into the corral with Castor. "I'll put him back up in the barn before I go help Will bring the rest of the herd in."

Alice rubbed her temples, feeling the first pangs of a headache come on. She'd have to brew some willow bark tea to go with dinner, as her headache would no doubt worsen after Will heard about the days events. Which reminded her…

"Mark?" she called to her son, who was halfway across the corral, Castor plodding behind him.

The boy looked back over his shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, Ma?"

"Don't let Will run the cattle into the ground trying to get home any faster," Alice gave her son a tired but knowing smile. "Hollander and his men have already left, so there's no point in hurryin'."

Mark grinned at the command. "Yes ma'am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia  
> "A sound heart is the life of flesh: but envy the rottenness of the bones." Proverbs 14:30  
> Hereford bulls were enormous during the mid 1800s and some weighed in at nearly 3,900 lbs (1770kg). However, their meat was far more valuable than a typical longhorn (which at the time of this story, were selling for as little as 10 a head in certain parts of the country). Bulls were especially prized for their ability to improve on existing herds of cattle. Herefords are well known for being extremely docile.  
> Arizona is home to wide variety of scorpion species, including the Arizona Bark Scorpion, which is the deadliest species found in the US. Scorpion mothers carry their babies on their back, and the event I described in which a scorpion was knocked from the ceiling and tiny scorpions scattered in every direction actually happened to my father-in-law. He screamed and ran like a little girl, and I can't say I blame him.  
> Willow bark tea contains salicyclic acid, which is a precursor to aspirin. It's been used as a remedy for headaches, fever and rashes for more than 2,000 years.  
> Beavers are the largest rodent found in the United States, and are the second largest rodents in the world, behind the capybara. Their range extends from Canada all the way south to Mexico.  
> Here's something that'll make your back ache… A woman like Alice Evans probably hauled in about 50 lbs (23 kg) of firewood daily.


	4. Greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice, Will and Mark discuss the motives behind Ben Wade/Joshua Mason's return to Bisbee over dinner.

Over the next couple of hours, Alice did her best to continue the day as though Hollander and his men had never come visiting, which was difficult to say the least. She finished bringing in the rest of the cut firewood, but trying not to think about the events of that afternoon actually worsened her headache. So she brewed herself some willow bark tea. After a few sips had dulled the pain to a manageable level, she devoted the rest of her time to finishing supper before the boys got home from the range.

Will must have taken Mark's message from her to heart, because the boys returned with the herd only slightly earlier than they usually did. At the rumbling sound of the herd returning, she gave the gravy a last stir and went to stand on the front porch, watching as Will and Mark used their horses to guide the willing herd of cattle into the large corral by the barn.

Pollux's massive red back was clearly visible among the shorter and rangier longhorn cows, and Alice couldn't help but smile as she thought about how astonished Hollander and Atkins had been by the sight of Castor. The man formerly known as Ben Wade had not been so impressed, but that apparently was because he'd seen Herefords before.

_No, it was because he found something else more interesting to look at_. She drew in a quick breath as that thought suddenly popped into her head. Giving a slight shake of her head to clear that notion away, Alice focused her attention on William and Mark, who had just enclosed the cattle in the corral and were riding their horses toward the house.

"Did he come back?" William asked immediately as he pulled up his horse in front of the porch and dismounted, his brother a few hooves behind.

Alice shivered at that suggestion, not because she found the thought of being at the ranch alone when Joshua Mason came visiting frightening, but because she _wasn't_ frightened, and that alarmed her even more. "No, he didn't come back. None of them did," she stated calmly. "What reason would they have to come back anyway? Hollander and his men saw what they wanted to see, and that was Castor."

Will frowned at that, "You're sure it was Ben Wade? Not just someone who looked like him?"

Mark immediately rolled his eyes at the question and scowled at his brother. "I told you it was him, he practically up and said it straight out when we was talking."

Alice concurred, "It was Ben Wade, William. He looks a little different because he's lost some weight and his hair is even shorter than yours is. But it was definitely him. Either way, we'll talk about it later. You boys get the horses fed and watered and then get cleaned up for supper." She turned her back and went inside, effectively ending the discussion for now.

A short time later after grace had been said, they all three had food on their plates and were just starting in eating dinner when Will brought the subject up again. "So why do you think he came back?" the sixteen year old wondered, his eyebrows drawn down in thought as he tapped his fork on the edge of the plate.

Alice had been asking herself the same question almost from the moment she realized who it was that Glen Hollander now had on his payroll. She hesitated before answering, "I'm not sure. If he's given up on his life as Ben Wade though, then he'd be needing a job that pays as much as any other man out here."

Mark looked at her, "I thought that he had lots of money though. I mean, didn't he rob those railroads for a long time? He stole thousands of dollars, I thought. Wouldn't that make him rich enough that he wouldn't have to work for pay?"

Swallowing a mouthful of peas, Will shrugged, "He'd have to split the money with the men in his gang though, not keep it all for himself. Don't matter, cause even so, that'd still be a whole lot of money. I think I remember Grayson Butterfield tellin' me once that all together, Ben Wade and his gangs had robbed the railroads of somewhere around 400,000 dollars."

Blinking at the amount, Alice said, "That's an awful lot of money. Even if he divided all the money equally among all his gang members, he'd still be a rich man. The thing is, people take big notice of a man that's spending a lot of money, and I don't think he wants to be noticed. The less people that notice him, the less chance there is of him being recognized." She chewed a bit of beef and thought that over for a few moments. "What exactly did he say to you, Mark? I noticed the two of you were talking a little bit before Mr. Hollander, Mr. Atkins and I walked over."

The boy's brow furrowed as he tried to remember their conversation, "I asked him if Hollander knew who he was, and he said no. Then I asked him why he didn't want him to know." The boy's dark green eyes flickered from her to Will's, "I figured he thought Hollander would call the law down on him, but he said that he didn't think Hollander would take too kindly to knowin' who he was, seein' as how he killed Tucker."

"Tucker got exactly what he deserved," William stated firmly, his face full of disgust at mere mention of the dead ranch hand's name.

"William," Alice immediately chided disapprovingly.

"So? You hated him just as much as the rest of us did, Ma. You tellin' me you're sorry he's dead?" William lifted his chin in challenge, his pale eyes daring her to say otherwise.

"No, I didn't like Mr. Tucker, but it's rude to speak so of the dead," Alice quietly reminded him, a frown on her face.

"Ma?" Mark's soft voice drew their attention toward him, and he stared down at the dwindling amount of food on his plate as he asked, "Did Tucker kill people?"

William snorted as he cut a bit of meat from the steak, "I bet he woulda, given half the chance. Hell, after burnin' the barn down, he said he was gonna burn the house down next, remember?"

Alice was slower in responding and tried to remember any rumors she'd heard about Tucker. Finally she shook her head, admitting, "I can't remember ever hearing where Mr. Tucker killed anyone."

"Hollander had Tucker do all his dirty work though, remember?" William said around a mouthful of food. "He helped run the Jenkins off their homestead during the drought for sure, I know that. I remember Doc Potter had to set Bob Jenkins' hand after Tucker broke it."

A frown touched Alice's lips at that memory. Tucker had used his boot to crush poor Bob's hand. The homesteader's hand did not heal well, despite Doc Potter's best efforts, and he had trouble doing even simple things with his hand thereafter.

"But Tucker was a bad man, right?" Mark's small face was troubled as he looked up at his mother.

William immediately nodded, "Yeah, he was real bad."

She hesitated but could not disagree. "Yes, I think Tucker was a bad man."

Mark nodded with satisfaction, as though they were telling him something he suspected all along. A moment later, he added, "And Ben Wade is a bad man, too, right?"

"Ben Wade ain't the same as that bastard Tucker," William informed his brother with a frown.

Alice gave her oldest son a quelling look for his bad language and then sighed, rubbing one of her temples with a finger as she considered Mark's statement. "Ben Wade has killed people," she gently reminded William. "He killed how many people between Bisbee and Contention? Tucker, that Pinkerton, the Apaches, his gang…"

Her oldest son set his jaw stubbornly, "That was different. They were all either shootin' at him or about to. Hell his gang was all killers anyway, they shot Pa dead from the back. Wade just gave them all what they deserved. That Pinkerton McElroy weren't any better than the rest of them. He killed bunches of unarmed Indian women and children … then he called Ben Wade's ma a whore and…"

"William Evans!" Alice exclaimed, interrupting him. "You will not use that kind of language at the dinner table, do you understand me?"

Mark just sat there, wide-eyed and mouth half-open with shock.

William glared down at his plate sullenly, "Sorry. He did say that, though. That's why Wade killed him. He said, 'Even bad men love their mommas'." The teenager picked up his fork again and started eating methodically.

The quiet clatter of the forks on the tin plates was the only sound for a few minutes as they resumed eating. Then Mark twiddled with his fork for a moment before asking, "Did Pa kill people too, during the War? And some of them were just… normal men, like him? Good people?"

"That's different, cause it's war," William muttered dismissively without looking up from his plate.

"So Pa killed good people but he wasn't a bad man… but Ben Wade killed bad people and he was a bad man. And Tucker didn't kill anyone, but he was even worse than Ben Wade?" Mark said dubiously.

Alice closed her eyes and rested her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers as she tried to put her thought into words. "William is right, killing people in a war is different, but it's hard to explain why. Wars are fought over a bigger cause than just one man fighting with another. If the War Between the States had never taken place, people like our blacksmith Elijah and his wife would still be considered slaves and the United States would no longer be one country, but two."

Both William and Mark remained silent, their food forgotten for now, listening to her speak.

"As far as why Ben Wade and Tucker were different… Even if Ben Wade killed all of those people in self defense, he still broke the law by stealing the railroad payrolls," she reminded them.

"Yeah, but didn't the railroad break the law by runnin' some people out of their homes and off their land to lay the tracks?" William interjected again, looking at her. "That's why Hollander was tryin' to force us off the land in the first place, so he could sell the land to the railroads."

Sighing patiently, Alice lifted a hand, "I'm not going to get into a discussion over whether the railroads have done people right or wrong, William." She turned her attention back toward Mark and continued, "My point is, Ben Wade has broken the law, and by most folks reckoning, that makes him a bad man in his own right. Now then, as for Tucker, well, even if he never killed anyone, he was a cruel man who delighted in seeing other people suffer, and the more they suffered, the happier it made him, and, well… that's just a different kind of bad."

Apparently satisfied with the explanation, Mark nodded his head and returned to eating.

Relieved, Alice stared down at her own food. She really didn't have much of an appetite, but there was no way she was going to let good food go to waste, so she forced herself to eat. The rest of the meal passed in silence and after she scraped up the last bite of food, she got to her feet to carry the plate over to the wash bucket.

"Mom?" Mark spoke again and she turned to look at him he asked, "Do you think we should tell the lawmen he came back? Since he's still a wanted man? The sign said there was a reward for 2,500 dollars to whoever turns him in."

William was just getting up from his chair as well and went still at Mark's question. A worried frown appeared on his face, though he said nothing one way or the other.

Alice considered the question a long moment. Ben Wade was still a wanted man, and the reward was big enough that they would do well for a few years before wanting or needing anything. But she found herself shaking her head, "No, I don't think we'll call the law down on him. If Ben Wade is truly making an effort to walk a straight and narrow path, and trying to work at making an honest living, then we'll let him continue to do so. As far as anyone knows, Ben Wade is dead anyway. We'll just let him stay that way."

Mark smiled at her answer. "That's what I was thinkin' too." Rising from the table, he put his plate into the wash water and announced, "I'm gonna go get started on feedin' the herd for the night. Will, you comin'?"

"I'll be along in a minute," Will responded after glancing at his mother.

Alice gave Mark a reassuring smile and watched as he grabbed his hat, plopping it onto his head before he trotted out the door and headed for the barn. She turned expectantly toward her son, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

Will's pale green eyes were serious as he quietly asked, "Why do you figure he's come back to Bisbee?"

"I have no idea, and it's not like he would have told me if I'd asked, even if Hollander and his man hadn't been standing there watching." She exhaled and blew a wisp of blonde hair away from her eyes, "When I first realized who he was, I figured that Hollander knew he was Ben Wade, and had just hired him on to do his dirty work. 'Specially with our creek near drying up this past week or so. Oh! That reminds me, Hollander said that beavers are the reason the water stopped. Seems they built a dam there."

"Beavers," Will repeated incredulously. He'd never seen a beaver in the entire time they'd lived in Arizona.

"I know, I know," Alice could not help but smile at his expression. "Regardless of whether men or beavers built it, he says he'll have it cleared by this time next week… and if it's not, you and Mark are to go over there and clear it yourselves."

Biting his lip, he thought over what she said. "You really think Wade would do stuff like that? Dam up creeks, burn people's barns and houses down and the like, the way Tucker did? Cause I don't."

Alice immediately agreed with him. "No, I can't see him doing that. He's too…" She faltered, trying to come up with an appropriate word.

"Straight-forward?" Will suggested.

"Yes, that's a good word for it," she nodded. "I just can't see him doing underhanded things like that. It seems like they'd be too petty for him to do. Even if he was being paid."

Will scratched his head, "Maybe he's got money stashed somewhere in the hills from that last heist? If he ain't been spending his money, he had to have hidden it away."

"Even if he did," Alice reasoned, "he wouldn't have put it in a place where he couldn't get to it anytime he wanted to. Certainly there'd be no need for him to hire in as a ranch hand or anything in the meanwhile." Restless, she busied herself by starting in on washing some of the dishes.

Thinking in silence for a moment, he finally shook his head in confusion, "That's really what I don't get, him hirin' on as a cowhand here, of all places. Mark said that he came here by way of New Mexico, right? He coulda gone pretty much anywhere he wanted. Why come back to a place where there's a chance of him being recognized instead of going some place like Montana or Oregon, where no one's ever even heard of him?"

Shrugging unknowingly, Alice used a threadbare towel to dry off the tin plate. Another idea occurred to her, and this one was surprisingly unpleasant. "Dan told me he was picked up in the saloon in town. Is there any chance he left a… a lady friend behind?" Her voice sounded unusually harsh to her own ears.

William seemed to take her strange tone as disapproval, luckily. "Was he even in town long enough to get to know a woman that well? I mean, yeah I think Pa said he was with Emma Nelson but she sold the saloon and moved back to Dawson right after we got back from Contention."

Irritated with the turn in conversation, she sighed impatiently, "I think I've had enough of talk of Ben Wade, or Joshua Mason, or whoever he is at this current point in time, to last me for a good long while. Let's just drop it for now. Besides, you've got chores to finish up. Now get on to them," she ordered.

He seemed startled by her sudden change in mood but nodded before heading out the door to help his brother.

It was late the following afternoon when Joshua returned to the Evans land, but this time he was alone, and grateful for it. Hollander and Atkins had nearly talked his ears off on the way back to the Double Bar-H ranch, asking him everything he knew about Hereford cattle. He did his best to answer all their questions, drawing back on what he'd learned about the cattle breed when he'd been working in New Mexico.

Lester Holmes was still alive when they got back to the large ranch, but had ended up dying in his sleep overnight. No one shed any tears. Atkins had two of the hands cart the body a few miles away, where he was buried in an unmarked grave.

Since they were back down to nine steady hands, Joshua was assigned to work with two other men, Ike Scott and Leroy Perkins. Ike was probably in his 50s, and Perkins was probably in his mid-thirties, which made him slightly younger than Joshua. Neither cowboy was predisposed to idle chatter, and that suited him just fine. He spent most of the day trying not to dwell on how much more beautiful Alice Evans was with a smile lighting up her face.

He broke off from following the herd with Scott and Perkins as they were about to head back to the Bar-H in time for supper. They probably thought he was going south into Bisbee, but after he was a couple of miles away from them, he directed Dawson eastward, sticking to the higher terrain where he had a better view of the Evans land. It wasn't long before he spotted what he was looking for: A single figure on horseback following about a hundred head of cattle that included one large red bull.

He clicked his tongue, maneuvering his black horse down the rocky slope toward William Evans. He made no attempt to hide his presence and thus was seen almost immediately. The teenager watched him approach from afar, his spine stiff with nervousness. When Joshua was a reasonable distance away, he gave William a quick smile of greeting accompanied by a casual, "Afternoon," and settled Dawson in to ride along side the boy at an easy walk.

Will was doing his best not to stare at the older man, and having about as much success with it as his brother had. "Joshua Mason?" he finally said tentatively, testing the name out and trying to place it with the face of the man he'd known as Ben Wade.

"Yep," Mason replied simply. "You can call me Joshua, though." He grinned and gave the boy a sidelong look, "Seein' as how we're old friends and all."

The notion of being 'old friends' with someone as famous as Ben Wade had Will smiling as well. "What're you doin' here?" the boy asked curiously.

The man shrugged easily, "Saw you didn't have Mark with you and figured you could use some help driving the herd back home." Of course there was more to it than just that, but his explanation would do for now.

Will was more open with his examination of Joshua now, making note of the changes in clothing style, the clean-shaven face and much shorter hair. "You look pretty different." Blinking, he suddenly realized one thing was missing. "Where's the Hand of God?"

"Left it behind in Mexico along with the name Ben Wade," Joshua replied, shrugging.

Will's jaw dropped at that revelation, "You just up and left it? It was custom-made, right?"

Joshua nodded, explaining, "Yes but the gun is nearly as famous as the name Ben Wade. If I'd just changed my name, but kept the gun, people would see it and start asking questions about how I got it and I'd get attention I don't want. Or need, for that matter."

The man and boy rode in silence for a few minutes when Will announced, "Emma Thompson moved back to Dawson. In case you was wondering."

"Who? Who's Emma Thompson?" Joshua asked with genuine confusion. He didn't recognize the name at all.

"The woman that used to own the saloon in Bisbee? Pa said when you was picked up at the saloon, you were… uh, you know. With her." William's face reddened with embarrassment as he spoke. "Ma said maybe you came back to Bisbee to be with her, but she ain't here no more."

"Ah." Joshua couldn't help but smile at the boy's obvious innocence, and bluntly stated, "Beddin' a woman like Emma ain't a proposal, but a mutual arrangement. We both got pleasure out of it, but neither of us had intentions of it goin' anywhere beyond that. Your ma really think that's why I came back?" he inquired curiously and wasn't sure if he was amused or offended by her assumption.

"I don't think so," Will returned with a shrug. "I don't know, it's just, you know. We were talking about it last night, tryin' to think of things that'd bring you all the way back here." He paused and turned to look the other man in the eye, asking directly, "Why did you come back then? Why Bisbee, when there's so many other places you coulda gone? You ain't workin' for Hollander 'cause you need money, we know that."

Joshua chuckled, acknowledging the honesty of that statement. "No, I ain't doin' it because I need money. Mostly, it was curiosity. Just wanted to see how ya'll were doin', if you'd taken Butterfield's money and moved on, if Hollander had kept his word." He pursed his lips and admitted with a wry smile, "Though I will admit I'm glad Butterfield ain't still livin' around here. He'd have recognized me for sure."

"He went back to Chicago right after they finished the railroad, but he ain't comin' back here. Ma writes him and his wife though. Mr. Butterfield's wife's daddy is a big time rancher in Illinois. That's where we got Castor and Pollux from. We get a letter from them every now and again," Will informed him and looked westward toward Hollander's land. "Hollander done right by his word for a long time, up until he dammed up our creek a couple of weeks back." The boy turned his head back toward Joshua and his pale eyes held a hint of uncertainty as he asked, "You didn't do that, though, did you? Dam up our creek?"

All humor was gone from Joshua's face at the question. He examined the boy's face and realized Will was asking for verification of what he already suspected was true, not making an accusation. "No. It was already done when I was hired on by Hollander last week, and I didn't find out what they'd done to block it until yesterday. Atkins and Lester Holmes were the ones who did it. I'd planned on knocking part of the dam out last night, but apparently your mother said something to him yesterday when he came visitin' that convinced Hollander to take it down himself."

Will made a hissing sound of irritation between his teeth. "Knocking it out probably wouldn't a done any good. Hollander'll probably just have Atkins and Holmes put it back up in a few weeks, and when you're gone there won't be anyone to knock it out."

"Maybe I don't plan on leaving," Joshua said mildly, looking straight ahead. "Besides, you don't have to worry about Lester Holmes building dams or anything else anytime soon. He's dead."

Will's hands tightened on his horse's reins and the animal drew to a stop. "Dead?" he repeated, staring wide-eyed at the other man. "You killed him?"

"Me? No, I didn't kill him." Joshua wheeled his horse to the side and faced the boy. "I thought about it, though," he admitted with sardonic amusement. "No, Lester got himself bit by a coral snake yesterday morning. He died in his sleep last night. Just stopped breathin', I suppose."

Blinking, Will nudged his chestnut horse back into motion and returned to his position at the rear of the herd. "He was nearly as bad as Tucker, I ain't sorry he's dead at all," the boy finally muttered.

Joshua smirked briefly, "I doubt anyone misses Lester Holmes."

"So why's Hollander back to tryin' to get us off our land? He ain't sellin' the land to the railroads, they're already done layin' tracks around here. I guess it's just plain ol' greed. He wants our land, he wants our bulls. It never ends." Will said with disgust. "For some people, they just don't ever get enough."

"'He coveteth greedily all the day long.' Proverbs 21:26," quoted Joshua with dry amusement. "And as for Hollander, well it seems that he's taken a shine to your Ma."

William could only stare at him in shock and horror.

"Yep," Joshua continued as he gave the boy a sidelong look, "Glen Hollander's thinks he needs himself a new wife and has decided that Widow Evans is the perfect woman for him. The fact that she comes with two of the most valuable bulls in the Arizona Territory just sweetens the pot."

"That's ridiculous," Will's voice was outraged. "Like Ma would marry Glen Hollander. She doesn't even like him. Why would he ever think she'd marry a man like him?"

Joshua smiled grimly, "Because Hollander looks at Alice Evans and sees a lonely widow woman, struggling to make it out here on the range with no man helping her, with one sick boy and the other barely old enough to shave. He's wealthy, he's got a big house, hired servants, and land a-plenty. Some women, maybe even most women, might jump at the chance to land a man like Hollander and think they came away better because of it."

"Well my Ma ain't most women," William declared hotly. "Mark ain't been sick in more'n a year, and we've been doin' just fine."

"I know you have, Will. Hell your family been through a lot these last two years and done better than most I've seen, and with a damn sight less."

The boy seemed somewhat mollified by Joshua's words, but still fumed.

The small shape of a boy on horseback appeared from the south. Mark had arrived to help Will bring the herd back to the ranch for the evening. His dark green eyes were wide with surprise as he realized who was riding alongside his brother, but after a moment's hesitation he joined them on the opposite side of Will from Joshua.

"Afternoon Mark," Joshua greeted the boy with an amiable nod.

Will merely grunted at his brother's appearance, his face still taut with indignation.

"Mr. Mason," Mark returned the greeting with respect, carefully enunciating the name. He peered closely at Will, taking note of his older brother's obviously foul mood, and frowned with confusion. "What's wrong?" he asked, looking from Will to the man beside him.

"I gave him some surprising news, and he's not taking it well," Joshua explained, a tight smile on his face.

Speaking through clenched teeth, Will growled, "Hollander's courtin' Ma."

Mark blinked at first but then started laughing, quickly cupping his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound so he didn't startle the cattle.

The boy's helpless giggles were infectious and Joshua soon found himself chuckling as well. A few moments later, their mirth caused Will's ill humor to fade enough that although he wasn't laughing outright, he was at least smiling and shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it.

The twelve year old boy finally regained control of himself enough to press one hand to his chest, which had nearly started to ache he laughed so hard. Mark wiped a tear away from his eye with his free hand, saying with a broad grin on his face, "Boy, just wait till we tell Ma. I bet she practically falls over she laughs so hard."

The smile faded from Will's face, but he didn't contradict his brother's assumption. Glancing at the man beside him, he quietly asked, "You wanna help us get the herd back to the ranch?" though he knew Joshua's help wasn't really needed.

He was somewhat surprised by the invitation but nodded immediately. "Sure, glad to help."

Occasional giggles continued to escape from Mark as the trio fanned out behind the cattle.

The barest hint of humor still touched Joshua's lips as he clicked his tongue at Dawson, quietly encouraging his black horse after the herd. He wanted to see Alice Evans laugh just as much as he had wanted to see her smile, but he strongly suspected laughter would be the furthest thing from the blonde woman's mind when she found out about Hollander's intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia  
> "He coveteth greedily all the day long: but the righteous giveth and spareth not." Proverbs 21:26  
> Women were drastically outnumbered by men on the frontier. A beautiful widow woman like Alice Evans would have been highly sought after, and would have a wide selection of suitors to choose from should she choose to remarry. I should have researched that before writing this chapter, as I would have had a few potential suitors approach Alice when she went to town in Chapter 1!  
> There are several instances of outlaws trying to go straight with varying degrees of success. Frank James was one of those who succeeded, and was actually issued a full pardon for his crimes by the governor of Missouri. Some outlaws like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were not so lucky. The more infamous an outlaw's face was, the less the chance of him succeeding. The fact that Ben Wade refused to have his picture taken would have greatly worked in his favor, as would his robbing only railroad stagecoach payrolls instead of banks and 'normal people'.


	5. Gluttony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's coming for dinner??!

Alice stared wearily at the empty wood shed. With all the distractions the past couple of days, neither she nor Will had remembered to split the logs for firewood. The small amount of wood that remained from yesterday had been used up keeping the fire going to cook the stew and bread they'd have for supper that night.

Today was Thursday, which made it 'Churn Day', so Alice had spent most of the day alternating between her usual daily chores and making butter. While it wasn't as strenuous a chore day as say, Wash Day, once she got started with it, churning and skimming the cream did require her constant attention. She was done with that task for the day, the butter and buttermilk safely stored in their root cellar until she needed them.

Mark and Will would be returning from the range with the herd any time now, and she picked up the axe. Hopefully she'd get enough logs split before the boys got back that they'd have enough to last them through the night.

A short time later, the familiar sound of many hooves tracking on rough dry ground and an occasional moo indicated the arrival of their small herd. Alice sighed as she lowered the axe and rested it on the ground, leaning on it for a moment while she studied the small pile of split wood she'd produced. It was a start, but they'd need more before turning in for the night.

She looked northward, watching the cattle plod over the hill followed by the familiar forms of Will and Mark on their horses… and a third rider on a black horse.

Stopping just short of uttering a very unladylike curse, Alice hefted the axe one last time before sinking it into the splitting block. It was bad enough that she'd had trouble keeping that damnable man out of her thoughts all day, but now, to have to endure another strained conversation with him? What did he want this time?

_Hopefully, to tell us he's on his way back to wherever it is he's from,_ she thought to herself. It was accompanied by a flicker of disappointment that she quickly squelched.

Alice made her way back to the small house, crossing her arms and watching the man and two boys expertly guide the cattle into the corral. They worked together as a team with such ease it was almost as though they'd been doing so for years, instead of for the first time ever. Dan would have worked with the boys in this same way if he'd still been alive.

Her eyes misted with tears when she considered that, and she drew in a long slow breath to rein in her sadness. Her husband had been gone for nearly two years and the worst of her grief had faded to an occasional dull ache. The times she thought about her boys losing their father and the impact that had on their lives were when she missed him the most.

By the time they finished penning up the cattle, Alice had her emotions under control again. Mark's eyes were bright and excited as he guided his horse into the yard ahead of the other two and dismounted. He had the presence of mind to see to his horse first, but from the frequent grins he kept casting over his shoulder at her, he was itching to tell her something.

Will rode up and climbed off his horse, Joshua Mason only a few beats behind. Her older son nervously avoided meeting her gaze as he walked the short distance to the trough.

The man himself gave her an easy smile, giving that characteristic tip of his hat as a greeting. "Mrs. Evans."

"Mr. Mason," returned Alice, her voice even and cool. "What brings you back over to our neck of the woods? Did Mr. Hollander send you?"

"No, Mr. Hollander didn't send me," Joshua immediately responded, his eyes meeting hers and his expression more serious. "I don't deliver messages for Mr. Hollander, not the kind of messages he sends, anyway."

He may have been an outlaw and possibly even a cold-blooded killer, but Alice couldn't help the slight smile of relief that appeared on her lips at his words. "That's good to know." She glanced over to where her sons were still watering their horses. Noting that William still refused to meet her eyes, she hazarded a guess, "Will invited you?"

A chuckle escaped Joshua at her insight, "I happened to run into him while out riding the range and he asked if I'd help bring the herd in."

"I see," Alice said, pursing her lips and arching one disbelieving eyebrow at him. "And you say you just happened to run into him."

His answering smile was wide and unrepentant. "Yes ma'am. It was quite a coincidence how that happened."

Mark had finished watering his gelding while the two adults spoke and loosely looped the reins around the fence before walking over to them. By now, he was almost squirming with excitement from holding in whatever it was he had to tell her. Unable to keep silent a moment longer, he grinned up at her. "Guess what, Ma?"

"What?" Alice gave her youngest son an indulgent smile, gamely playing along.

"Mr. Mason told Will and me the funniest thing ever, ain't that right, Will?" His older brother had walked up behind him, but where Mark's dark green eyes danced with humor, Will's eyes were angry and worried.

The amiable expression had faded from Joshua Mason's face, and he turned away, taking the opportunity to lead his mount the short distance over to the trough.

Alice was starting to get a very bad feeling about this. "Did he now?"

Nodding eagerly, Mark said, "Yep. He told us-get this, he said that Mr. Hollander was gonna start courtin' you." The boy doubled over, laughing helplessly.

She was sure she'd misheard him and gave Mark all of her attention. "Hollander is what?"

Will spoke up for the first time, his face stony. "He said Hollander's gonna try and get you to marry him."

Alice stared agape at Mark and Will with incredulous disbelief for so long that her younger son stopped laughing and started looking worried.

Mark studied her face and apprehensively noted, "Will, she ain't laughing. Why ain't she laughing?"

"Cause it ain't funny, Mark," Will growled.

Regaining her voice, Alice lifted her chin and called to Joshua, "Is it true? What they're saying? Does he really…" she couldn't complete the sentence out loud. The mere thought of marrying Hollander and all that entailed, of having to endure not just the man himself, but his touch, his kiss…. She almost retched and actually had to cover her mouth with her hand, swallowing the bile back.

Joshua took his time in replying. He drew his horse away from the water basin and hitched it to the fence before walking back over to the ranch house. "Yes, it's true," he eventually answered, giving a slight nod to back up his words, his gaze serious and almost sympathetic.

That look from him suddenly ignited her anger. Her spine stiffened and her eyes flashed with fury, not just at Joshua Mason—at Ben Wade—for having the nerve to pity her, but because Glen Hollander had the gall to even _think_ she would consider marrying him. If Alice had to blame one person for Dan Evans' death, it wouldn't have been Ben Wade, but the rich landowner Glen Hollander. He had lied to them, dammed up their creek, burned their barn and driven them to such desperation that Dan had little choice but to take that asinine escort job. It was either that or lose everything that meant anything to her husband—including their son.

Mark actually took a step back at the fury on his mother's face, muttering a nervous, "Uh-oh."

Will stood his ground, though he also seemed to be debating retreat in the face of her ire.

"William, Mark, you've got chores to get finished before supper," Alice grated out. "I'm sure Mr. Mason needs to be getting back to Mr. Hollander's ranch for supper."

"Actually," Joshua scratched the side of his face, "I'll be heading into Bisbee for my meal tonight. It's too late for me to make it back to the Bar-H in time to eat."

"You could eat supper with us. Ma's makin' stew, we always have plenty of that," Mark swiftly suggested. Half a beat later, he made the mistake of looking at his mother again, and drew in a quick breath at her expression. "Ah, I'm gonna go get the rest of my chores done…" He hurried off before he could get into more trouble, collecting his horse from where it was tied to the corral fence and leading the animal to the barn.

Will backed up half a step and gave his mother a wary look before inputting, "Mark's right. You should stay for supper. Bisbee's a long ride aways." He hastily made his way over to his sorrel gelding and headed off toward the barn as well.

Alice glared at her sons as they beat a hasty retreat, but the damage had been done. She was far too gracious a hostess to withdraw the invitation outright, once it had been given. Turning to a bemused Joshua, she tilted her chin slightly as she spoke, "Mr. Mason, you are welcome to join us for dinner, but I'm sure the Bisbee boarding house can offer up meals that are far more to your liking than plain old stew."

A slow easy smile appeared on Joshua's face and he said, "Now Mrs. Evans, I'll remind you that I've had your cooking before, and I'm fair sure it's better than boarding house food, hands down. Stew sounds delicious."

She could have spit nails at the situation her sons had introduced but gave Joshua a civil nod instead. "Very well, then." Alice turned and went into the house.

A few moments later, Joshua followed her inside, removing his hat as he walked through the door.

The hearty aroma of seasoned meat, potatoes and carrots cooking filled the little house. Alice went to the stove, picking up the poker and using it to stir the coals up a bit more to ensure the bread would bake evenly. Setting it aside and protecting her hand with a potholder, she used a long metal ladle to stir the stew. She was still fuming with anger and glanced over her shoulder at their 'guest'.

Joshua absently ran a hand through his short dark hair, brushing away the worst of his 'hat-hair', as he looked around. Little had changed since the last time he set foot in the small house.

"Mr. Mason, may I ask you a question?" Alice inquired, her jaw still tight with anger.

"Of course. And please, call me Joshua," he replied, giving her one of his more charming smiles.

The smile went to waste, for she didn't even look at him, focusing all of her attention on stirring the stew. She lifted the ladle, leaving a tiny bit in the large bowl of the spoon and blew across the surface. When it was cool enough, she tasted it, gave an approving nod and kept stirring. "Mr. Mason, do I look like some kind of wilting flower?"

Joshua blinked at the unexpected question. "Excuse me?"

Now she looked directly at him, her green eyes icy and hard. "I asked if I look like some kind of wilting flower? Like some Boston socialite who faints at the slightest sign of trouble and has to be fanned and plied with smelling salts to come around? Does that kind of woman survive here in the Arizona Territory? Especially when she's a widow?"

It was a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway, resting one hand on the back of a chair as he regarded her. "No. No, you don't seem like that kind of woman."

She closely examined his face, looking for any sign of prevarication, but found none. That mollified her to a certain degree and she shook her head with a weary sigh. "How is it that you know that, having been around me for what, a few hours at most? And Glen Hollander has been our landowner for years."

"Because Glen Hollander is stupid. I ain't." From another man it would have seemed like bragging, but from Joshua Mason it was a simple statement of fact.

They stared at each other a long moment, and for Alice, the small ranch house suddenly seemed even more cramped than usual. Forcing herself to turn back toward the stove, she began stirring again, "Supper will be done shortly. I'll call when it's done, if you want to see to your horse or something." Hopefully he would take her subtle hint and leave her in privacy to finish cooking, because she wasn't sure she could handle him standing there watching her.

His eyes lingered on her trim figure before Joshua turned to leave. A red bound Bible lying on a small table next to the rocking chair caught his eye. He bent to pick it up, opening it to the title page and stared at the simple pencil sketch of Dan Evans there, the one he'd drawn so long ago, when he was another man.

Alice saw him looking at the book and for a few moments, she debated not saying anything. However, that simple drawing had come to mean a lot to her family, regardless of who it'd been drawn by, and it felt wrong to ignore that when the artist himself was right there in the room. "It's the last picture we have of Dan," she quietly informed him as she took a few steps toward him, and then pointed out a picture of a thin serious soldier that hung on the wall by the hutch. "He had this one made from when he was in the War." She mustered a small sad smile, "We kept saying we were going to have a photograph of all of us made, together, as a family, but we just never got around to it. Anyway, thank you for that, for drawing it, I mean."

Joshua slowly closed the Bible and put it back down. Without looking at her, he said, "I'm sorry for the part I played in his death. I did my best to stop it from happening, but…" his voice trailed off.

She waited for him to finish, but when he didn't, she cast her eyes downward and said, "Will told me what happened. Thank you for at least trying." She paused before adding wryly, "Most men wouldn't have."

He nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. Putting his hat back on, he adjusted the brim, turned toward her long enough to touch his fingertip to it in a gesture of gentlemanly respect and walked out the door.

She walked across the room and picked up the Bible, flipping it open to the sketch of Dan. It was startling how accurately her husband had been depicted, from the stubborn set of his eyebrows to the light yet prepared grip of his hand on the shotgun across his lap. Alice brushed her fingertips across the image and a wistful smile touched her lips.

When she heard the sound of an axe chopping wood, she quickly closed the book and replaced it on the table. Walking over to the doorway, Alice found herself staring at Joshua, who had his back to the door as he swung the axe with ease, expertly splitting the logs into firewood.

She considered asking him to stop, but thought the better of it. Did it really matter who chopped the wood, as long as it got done? She decided to accept the fact that sometimes there were distinct advantages to having a man around. Alice watched him for a few moments before heading back to finish up dinner.

Alice called them in to eat a little while later and noted with amusement that this time Joshua waited until after grace had been said before he dug in, though his table manners still left something to be desired.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Mark alternated between spoonfuls of stew and peeking at Joshua. "Mr. Mason, can I ask you a question?"

The man thoughtfully regarded Mark as he slowly chewed a bite of meat, twirling his spoon between nimble fingers. "I don't know, I'd say that depends on the question."

Alice hesitated in buttering a slice of bread and gave her son a sidelong glance. There was no telling what he'd ask, and he had about as much tact as a herd of stampeding longhorns.

"Are you rich?"

The question made Alice sigh with irritation, and she speared her youngest son with a quelling glare. "Mark, it's rude to ask questions like that."

Joshua chuckled though, unoffended. Straightening in his chair from the hunched position he'd been eating in, he began going through all of his pockets and pulling out loose change and crumpled bills. He counted up the bills first, then the coins, announcing with a grin, "Let's see… that adds up to 35 dollars and 26 cents."

Alice was amused by how he chose to handle the prodding question though she sincerely doubted that small amount of money was all Joshua Mason had to his name.

Mark had his own suspicions as well, because he watched the man collect his money and return it to his pockets and observed, "Maybe you don't have enough pockets to hold all your money. Rich people don't carry around all their money all the time." His next question wasn't long in coming though. "You don't like Mr. Hollander much, do you?"

"No one likes Hollander," Will muttered before slurping up some broth.

Joshua leaned forward, resting his forearms against the edge of the table as he picked up his spoon and lowered it into the large bowl. After swirling it around a couple of times, he confessed, "No. No, I don't like him very much at all."

"If you don't like him, then why're you workin' for him? You bein' rich and all?" the boy inquired, his green eyes wide with curiosity.

"Mark, who Mr. Mason chooses to work for is none of our business," Alice chided gently, though it was a question she herself would have liked to know the answer to. Will seemed to be the only one at the table uninterested in hearing the response, and she found herself wondering what the man and boy had talked about when they had 'happened' to run into each other earlier that afternoon.

He answered anyway, of course. "I was curious," Joshua admitted, though he directed his words at Alice, meeting her eyes from across the table.

"Curious?" the boy echoed with confusion, looking from Joshua to his mother. "Bout what?"

"He wanted to know if Hollander was keeping his word to Mr. Butterfield," Will explained as he tore a piece of bread in two and dipped it into his bowl.

A confused Alice was struggling to make sense of his words as she stared at Joshua from the opposite end of the table. So basically he was checking in on them, like he owed it to Dan? Why now? Why at all? Once again, she found herself wondering what exactly had transpired between Ben Wade and Dan Evans in those last moments before the outlaw had boarded the 3:10 to Yuma. Mark's voice brought her back to the present.

"He did at first, but I guess he changed his mind, cause he dammed up our creek again," her younger son was saying. "But Ma said Hollander was gonna fix it 'fore the end of the week. Is that true?"

Joshua nodded, glancing at her son. "Yes, it's true, I heard him say as much yesterday when we were on our way back to the Bar-H."

William snorted, "We'll see how long that actually lasts for. Shame it was Lester Holmes that got killed and not Hollander, that'd have made things a lot easier for everyone." He seemed to reconsider his words and clarified, "Not that I'd miss either of 'em."

"Lester Holmes is dead?" Alice's gaze involuntarily flickered from Will to Joshua, and when he caught her glance, he shook his head in exasperation.

"For the love of… Lester Holmes died from getting snake bit! Why is it that when I'm around and someone up and dies, people just naturally assume I had something to do with it?" Joshua demanded with sardonic amusement, throwing his napkin on the table in a show of disgust.

Alice lifted a hand to her face in an attempt to hide her embarrassment, and Will burst out laughing. It was true, the moment he said that Lester was dead, she immediately thought Joshua had killed him. Possibly for just being stupid. For Lester Holmes, that would have practically been a mercy killing.

Being too young and naïve to recognize sarcasm, Mark stared wide-eyed at Joshua and reminded him very seriously, "Because you've killed people before."

Will stopped laughing almost instantly.

The ironic smile faded from Joshua's face and his blue-green eyes were serious as he nodded gravely at Mark, conceding, "Yes I have." He returned his attention back to his meal, picking up his napkin again and holding it in one hand while using a crusty piece of bread in the other to sop up some stew.

The ensuing silence was almost oppressive, and Alice struggled to focus on eating her food.

Few boys the age of her sons would be content to let the silence go on for long, and of course, hers were no exceptions to that rule. This time it was Will who spoke. "Were you in the War?"

Joshua hesitated a fraction of a second before responding, "Yes, I was in the war." The barest of smiles touched his lips and he straightened in his chair. "I was in Company D, of the 1st Colorado Cavalry."

A slight frown touched Alice's forehead as he named his unit. For some reason it sounded familiar, but like most women, she wasn't very knowledgeable about the different units and divisions and where they'd been stationed during the War. She'd been in her early teens at that time, and most of her memories from living in Boston during the War centered around the Abolitionist movements that her parents had been heavily involved in, though both of her older brothers had served and died in the 11th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry.

William, and Mark to a lesser extent, both found the War interesting enough that they soaked up every tidbit of information they could on the subject. Judging from the way they nearly dropped their spoons when Joshua gave his unit, they had definitely heard of it.

"You served under Colonel Chivington?" Will asked, jaw slack with shock.

Now that was definitely a name Alice had heard before. Colonel John Chivington was the Union officer who had orchestrated the Sand Creek Massacre, which was possibly the worst ever attack on Indians in United States history. The battle, if it could even be called that given how many unarmed Indian men, women and children had been killed, had been headline news on nearly every newspaper from California to Boston in late 1864 and early 1865, despite the victories of the Union Army in the East.

"Colonel Chivington may have been the commanding officer of the 1st Colorado Cavalry, but I served under Captain Silas Soule," Joshua grimly informed them. Clearly, in his eyes, there was a distinction between the two.

From what Alice could remember though, there had been. Captain Soule had led Company D, and had been the only officer serving under Chivington who had ordered his men not to open fire and stand down, despite the direct order of his commander.

She suddenly recalled back to the last time Joshua, then Ben Wade, had been their house. During that tense but brief meal, he had said he knew the Pinkerton agent, Byron McElroy, had killed dozens of men, women and children, not just Indians, but miners and the like as well. She found herself wondering if he'd witnessed some of those murders first hand.

"That's enough questions for one night," Alice stated firmly just as Mark opened his mouth to start in with another question. "I think it's time to let Mr. Mason eat in peace. How can he get a bite in edgewise when you two've been after him like a pack of dogs on a three legged cat?"

The analogy had Joshua's eyes crinkling with amusement, and the serious mood in the small house had lightened again.

Will had the grace to look abashed, though he hadn't been nearly as inquisitive during the meal as his brother had. Mark tried not to sulk and failed miserably, staring sullenly into his bowl.

Alice finished eating a few minutes later and got to her feet, heading over to the stove. She lifted the lid off the pot to see how much was left. "Does anyone want another helping? Mark? Will?" Both boys shook their head, and she extended the invitation to their guest. "Mr. Mason?"

"No thank you," he answered as he used a piece of bread to sop up the rest of the drippings in his bowl. Mark was favored with a mischievous sidelong glance as Joshua quoted what was obviously some verse from the Bible, "'Be not among winebibbers; among riotous eaters of flesh, for the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty.'" He leaned toward the boy and softly confided, "I don't want to take any chances on being poor."

Mark blinked and then giggled. Admiringly, he said, "You sure know a lot of Bible verses, Mr. Mason. I bet you know even more than verses than Preacher Newsome."

"That's cause Preacher Newsome only knows the verses about hellfire and damnation," Will sniffed, scraping his spoon across the bottom of the bowl and eating the lone sliced carrot that remained. "I read the Bible, and it ain't all about goin' to Hell."

"Of course it's not," Alice readily agreed as she poured some hot water from a kettle on the stove into the dish wash basin. "There're many stories and parables… some verses are almost like poems. Preacher Newsome just prefers those verses because…"

"Cause he's tryin' to scare people into Heaven," Will bluntly stated, rising to his feet and collecting his empty bowl and spoon from the table.

Turning her head toward the dishwater, Alice hid a smile. It wasn't very charitable, but Will's assessment of their local reverend's sermons was quite accurate.

Crinkling his nose, Mark said, "I can't ever get past 'Jehowzawuzum begat Elizeka, and Elizeka begat'… whoever he begat. All those 'begats' are sooooo boring. I did like the story of Noah and the ark and all the animals. That musta been one big boat, is all I know. Oh! And I like the story about Daniel in the den with the lions." He peered at Joshua, "How many verses in the Bible do you know?"

"All of them," Joshua said matter-of-factly. As they stared at him with disbelief, he stood and picked up his bowl and spoon, shrugging, "I got a knack for rememberin' things I read. If I read it, I can remember it. Comes in handy sometimes."

Alice couldn't imagine what that'd be like, being able to remember every single thing she ever read in her life. It'd certainly take away the pleasure of rereading her favorite books and stories.

"All of them? Like, the whole thing? Every single chapter?" Mark didn't sound as though he believed it was possible. "Ok then, what's… Mark 2:5 say?" He may not have known what the verse actually said, but the boy surely knew that there was a chapter of the Bible named after him, and it was long.

Joshua promptly answered, "'When Jesus saw their faith, he said unto the sick of their palsy, Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.'" As he finished quoting, he held out his hands and gave a mocking half-bow.

Will dropped his dishes into the wash basin and walked across the room to pick up the red bound Bible. It took him a few moments to thumb through for the reference, but when he found it, he looked at his brother, "That's exactly what it says, word for word." The teenager flipped back through some pages, randomly selected another verse with his finger and quizzed, "What's II Chronicles 4:18?"

"'Thus Solomon made all these vessels in great abundance, for the weight of the brass could not be found out.'" Joshua paused and added, "That whole chapter's about when King Solomon built his temple, actually. The temple vessels, to be exact."

When Will's nod indicated that the man had quoted correctly, Mark was suitably impressed. "Wow, you must be the smartest man in the whole world!" he exclaimed, staring at Joshua with amazement.

His mother was struggling not to stare at Joshua with a similar expression. While she wasn't sure if Joshua was the smartest man in the world, he certainly was the most complex man she'd ever met. He continually defied her expectations.

Abruptly realizing he was still standing there holding his bowl and spoon while they tested his memory skills, Alice apologized, "I'm sorry, I'm not being much of a hostess, am I? Here, let me take those," and held out her hands. She glanced up at his ruggedly handsome face as he handed her the dinnerware and her curiosity got the better of her. "What's your favorite verse then? Or passage?" It seemed a simple enough question, but at the same time she hoped it would give her a slightly better understanding of him.

He didn't answer straight off, just stared down unblinkingly at her with those probing blue-green eyes that seemed to peer into the very heart of her, into her soul, rooting out every hope and fear and wrong-doing and secret desire she'd ever had, or ever would have and laying them bare…

"Ma?" Will's slightly worried voice broke the silence.

Alice forced herself to look at her son and mustered a reassuring smile for him, though she didn't trust herself to say anything out loud just yet. For good measure, she took a step back away from Joshua, from this stranger, this man who was dangerous for all kinds of reasons... and some of them had nothing to do with his criminal past.

Mark, luckily, had not picked up on the tension in the room. "You got the whole entire Bible memorized, and you don't got a favorite?" he sounded almost disappointed.

Alice had just turned toward the dish basin when Joshua closed his eyes and began quietly reciting:

"To every thing, there is a purpose, and a time to every season under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace…

He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end. I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life."

Will and Mark were utterly rapt as they listened to him quote the passage from beginning to end, and Alice could hardly blame them. The verses already had a certain simple beauty to them. When spoken aloud in Joshua's rough yet soothing voice, the words were given a whole new element that seemed to offer strength, hope and comfort all at once. She found herself moved almost to the point of tears, the bowl and spoon held slack and forgotten in her hands.

When he finished, opening his eyes and looking at them, naturally Mark was the first to speak. "Wow!" he exclaimed, "If the preacher did a sermon on stuff like that, I bet more people would come to church!"

"I remember reading that," Will stated, putting the red Bible down on the table again. "It's in… um… Ecclesiastes, right?"

Joshua favored the tall teenager with an approving smile, "That's right."

While they were talking, Alice slipped the dishes into the wash bin and used the moment to collect her thoughts. Light was fading rapidly in the house, and Alice noted with dismay that it was already nearly dark outside. She took a deep breath and turned to face Joshua. "Mr. Mason, thank you for joining us for dinner. I hope all the questions didn't offend you."

"No need to worry. I'm pretty hard to offend," he confided, that sly half-smile on his lips. "Thank you for invitin' me."

"Thanks for helpin' us bring the herd in, Joshua, and glad you could join us for dinner," Will squared his shoulders as he spoke in a bid to appear older and more mature than his sixteen years. "Come on, Mark. We got cattle that need feedin'."

Mark sighed and got to his feet. "I'm a'comin', I'm a'comin'… Mr. Mason, I'm glad you stayed and ate with us. It was fun," he told the man, peering up at him as he put his granger hat on and went through the doorway at a trot, just ahead of Will.

Joshua was a half a step behind them, putting on his hat. He paused long enough to turn toward Alice, tipping the brim just so as he said, "Ma'am," in that relaxed drawl.

"Mr. Mason," Alice returned, inclining her head with as much formality as she could muster.

His grin broadened before he headed out the door.

Heaving a sigh of relief as tension released from her shoulders and spine, Alice began cleaning up the remnants of dinner. She'd only just started in on the dishes when she heard the sound of someone chopping wood again, and this time she didn't bother going to look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia stuff:  
> Traditionally, women did different chores on different days of the week. Monday was Wash Day, Tuesday was Iron Day, Wednesday was Mend Day, Thursday was Churn Day, Friday was Clean Day, Saturday was Bake Day and Sunday was Rest Day. Only, of course, there were still plenty of daily chores, namely cooking, hauling wood and water, and taking care of the family, that had to be done on a daily basis. My grandma was born in 1922, and I remember helping her iron every Tuesday when we went up to visit, and clean on Fridays.  
> This chapter includes a lot of scripture from the King James Version of the Bible and I hope that readers don't think that it was overdone. While I tried just having Joshua quote tidbits of the passage from Ecclesiastes, I felt that it really lost its efficacy when not quoted in whole, so you guys get to read it all. The KJV was pretty much the only English translation of the Bible in the 1880s available for common folk. Interestingly, unlike modern versions of the Bible that are typically translated from the original Hebrew and Greek text, the KJV was initially translated from Latin.  
> The following verses are quoted in this chapter:  
> Proverbs 23:21-22.  
> Mark 2:5  
> II Chronicles 4:18  
> Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, 11, 12  
> In regards to whether or not Ben Wade had an eidetic memory, I honestly have no idea. I found it interesting that when he picked up the red Bible in that hotel room, he never once opened it to read or flipped through the pages before settling in to sketch Dan Evans. It seemed strange to me, given how much scripture he quoted in the movie, so then I theorized, "Well what if he didn't bother opening it, because he already knows it verbatim from cover to cover?" From there, the leap to him having an eidetic memory seemed pretty darn plausible.  
> The Sand Creek Massacre took place in late November, 1864, and involved the 1st Colorado Cavalry, the 3rd Colorado Cavalry, and the 1st New Mexico Volunteers. The commanding officer of the troops, Colonel James Chivington, ordered his men to attack hundreds of Indian men, women and children, who were not only encamped under an American flag that was supposed to give them protection from the military, but also were flying a white flag of truce. One officer, Captain Silas Soule, refused to follow the order and told his man in Company D of the 1st Colorado Cavalry not to fire. The rest of the units followed Chivington's orders and opened fire, killing between 150-200 Indians. After the 'battle', Chivington's men scalped most of the victims and mutilated the bodies, wearing the fetuses of pregnant women and male and female genitalia as trophies.  
> Though initially reported as a victory by the Union army in the Indian Wars, as the truth about the massacre was revealed, largely due to the testimony of Captain Soule and the men serving under him, public opinion turned in favor of the Indians. Chivington was forced to resign as commander of the Colorado Militia and eventually court-martialed, though he was never truly punished for ordering his men to fire. One of the men who had served under Chivington during the Sand Creek incident would end up murdering Captain Soule, some say he had been ordered to kill Soule by Chivington himself, though this was never proved.  
> The site of the massacre is memorialized at the Sand Creek Massacre Historical Site in Eads, Colorado. And yes, I've been there in real life, in case that wasn't obvious.


	6. Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Rape/Non-con ahead, proceed with caution.
> 
> An ambush and an attack

Joshua split logs until the boys had both finished their chores and were heading in for the night, then helped carry in enough firewood to fill the woodbin.

To divert more questions from Mark as they loaded their arms up with the cut logs, Joshua asked the boy, "How'd you train that bull to take you as a rider? I don't reckon I've ever seen anything like that before."

Mark swelled with pride as he launched into an explanation that sounded remarkably similar to the process of gentling a horse. The bull had already been halter trained and was remarkably docile, so getting the animal accustomed to carrying things like half full grain sacks on his back didn't take long at all. Gradually the bull had finally reached a point where he just accepted the boy's weight.

"He don't weigh much more'n a bag of feed anyway, so it's not like Castor can tell the difference," Will teased good naturedly as they walked through the door into the house.

Sticking out his tongue in response, Mark made a half-hearted and obvious attempt to trip his brother, who laughingly dodged the outstretched leg with ease despite the fact that he was holding an armful of firewood.

Alice was in the main room. She had finished the dishes and was sitting down in the rocking chair, relaxing for what Joshua suspected was the first time that day. As they walked through the room, she set the book she'd been reading aside (a Jules Verne novel, he noted with interest) and rose to her feet.

They dumped the firewood into the bin as she watched, Mark and Will bantering back and forth with each other as they headed back outside.

"Thank you," Alice quietly murmured as Joshua passed.

He turned his head toward her, and though his initial inclination had been to make a quip about working for his supper, as he observed the proud tilt of her chin and the wariness in her eyes, instead he merely replied, "Happy to help." And he was almost surprised to discover that he meant it. Knowing that even as simple a task as splitting logs made life just a little bit easier for this family was satisfying in a way that robbing trains had never been.

Joshua went out for a second trip, and now Mark and Will were chattering cheerfully about the next calving season and how good it had the potential to be with the addition of their new bulls. He listened in companionable silence as they finished filling up the woodbin. Alice was already putting their efforts to good use by restocking the fireplace, getting it set to burn through the night.

He was the last to put logs into the bin and the boys were waiting for him outside, both looking at him expectantly, as though waiting for him to do something. "Somethin' you need doin'?" he finally asked, quirking an eyebrow at them.

"Will says you got your horse trained to follow you," Mark challenged, looking from the tall man over to his black horse. It was well after sunset now and the lanterns on the front porch offered just enough illumination to see over to where Dawson was still lashed to the corral fence, dozing to gauge from his lowered head and three-legged stance, the fourth leg relaxed and half-cocked.

"Did he now?" Joshua inquired, shifting his gaze to the older Evans boy.

"He was standing with the other horses," Will began, "and all of a sudden, he kicked up his heels and chased after the train. A horse don't do that, unless it's been trained, is all I'm saying." He paused before asking, "Is that how you got away? They say you never even made it to Yuma Territorial Prison, that you was gone before the train even got there."

Mark was only interested in seeing the trick itself performed. "Can you make him come to you now? I dunno, by calling his name or something?"

Joshua squinted at Dawson, and reminded the boys, "Yeah but that was different. He was only ground-tied back then. This time he's tied to a fence. He can't untie himself, he's just a horse."

Mark eagerly suggested, "Will could untie him, and then you could call him then?"

"Boys, I really need to be gettin' back to the Bar-H," Joshua shook his head. "Not that I haven't enjoyed myself or anything, but it's pretty late and I'll be expected to be ready to work first thing in the morning. Maybe they'll have me clearin' that dam from your stream." He ignored the boys' crestfallen expressions and took off his hat, hitting it against his thigh to shake the dust off, before replacing it on his head. As he settled it into place, he trilled a simple three-toned whistle.

Dawson immediately jerked to wakefulness and began tugging his reins, trying to draw away from the fence. Failing in the initial attempt to pull free, the horse began bobbing its head up and down, and although they couldn't see exactly what he was doing in the dim light, Will and Mark both watched in amazement as he gave a sudden quick flip of his head. The reins came free and the horse reared up for a brief moment before he ran full tilt toward them, kicking his feet up like a playful colt.

Skittering to a stop within inches of Joshua, the black horse danced around eagerly for a few moments before holding still enough for the man to collect the reins and mount up. "Yep, just a horse. Can't expect too much from a dumb ol' horse, can you?" Joshua continued his previous line of thought. "Good night," he called to a bemused Will and Mark, wheeling Dawson around once before the gelding began trotting gaily away from the Evans' home as though on a parade ground instead of a dirt road that was little more than a beaten path.

He chuckled to himself when the boys' delighted laughter reached his ears as his horse carried him up the low rise that led him back toward Hollander's large ranch. Once the Evans homestead was out of sight, his black horse altered his gait to a steady, ground-covering walk.

Entertaining Mark and Will with Dawson's calling trick had been unexpectedly enjoyable. Again, he found that rather surprising, as Joshua had never thought of himself as being someone who'd get along with, or even enjoy the presence of children. Granted, in his previous line of work, he had little, if any, exposure to youngsters, so it wasn't like he had been around them enough to make a judgment one way or the other. Perhaps it was that Alice's boys were both old enough that he was unconsciously regarding both of them as young adults rather than children.

Joshua abruptly felt an unpleasantly familiar tingling sensation between his shoulder blades, and his muscles tensed. Dawson sensed his unease and his even pace altered slightly, each hoof now striking the ground with a crispness and deliberation that hadn't been present before.

"Easy," he murmured, allowing his voice to soothe the horse even as he casually looked around. He shifted back in his saddle, resting one hand on his thigh where it was closer to his gun, but if whoever was out there happened to be a sharpshooter, he'd likely have little opportunity to use the Colt pistol. The crescent moon provided the barest hint of light, but even so, he could not see anyone moving in the rocky terrain that encircled most of the Evans homestead. While it seemed unusually quiet, in all truth he wasn't very far away from the ranch yet, so it was possible that the typical night time sounds of animals and insects were minimal as a result of that.

After a few minutes, the tingling faded, and with it, his sense of being in mortal danger. Joshua forced himself to relax. More than a year had passed since he had last had that feeling, and he'd been another man back then as well. Was he merely jumping at shadows? Or had the ghosts of his past finally come to haunt him? He wondered if he'd started to loose his touch, that survival instinct that had kept him alive when he'd been Wade. It'd been part of him so long, he almost couldn't imagine being without it, or not being able to trust it.

_I ain't lettin' go of it yet_ , Joshua grimly thought to himself. Just because he didn't see anyone or anything out there, it didn't mean there wasn't anything there. He had to trust his instincts. They'd never done him wrong before. He briefly toyed with the idea of returning to the Evans' home to make sure all was well there, but decided against it, as there was no reason to think they'd be in any danger.

He nudged Dawson into a canter, and although that itchy feeling still hadn't returned by the time he had returned the Double Bar-H ranch, Joshua remained watchful during the entire ride. Hollander's ranch was quiet as it usually was this time of night. Half the ranch hands were already sleeping in the bunkhouse, and the other half were out riding the range with the herd. He bedded his horse down for the night and even though the loud snoring of the other men didn't usually disturb him, it was a long time before he settled into an uneasy and restless sleep.

The following morning, he awoke disoriented and irritable. His muscles ached, not just his arms and shoulders from spending the previous day chopping wood, but his entire body. The tingling between his shoulder blades had returned with a vengeance, and he suspected that the tension from that had kept his muscles taunt as he slept. His foul mood worsened as he went through his normal morning routine of washing and shaving, and he remained on edge all the way through breakfast. He just couldn't seem to relax. Although he was always taciturn around the other cowhands, during breakfast they took one look at his stony face and avoided him completely.

When the men emerged from the cookshack after eating to get their daily work assignments, Tom Atkins was over by the main house, talking with Glen Hollander, who was already mounted up on his grey stallion. The landowner nodded his head at something Atkins said before he headed down the road, going south toward Bisbee.

Atkins walked toward them, hawking a gob of spit at the ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and ordered, "Scott, you and Pierce'll be working the herd to the Northwest today. Perkins, Samuel, you two'll be to the South. Johnson and Baker, you two take the West, and that leaves the Northeast for Carter and Jones." Each pair of men ambled off toward their horses after receiving their orders until only Joshua and the foreman remained.

"Mason, you and I'll be clearin' out that dam before Widow Evans gets a chance to send her boys over here. We'll get the stuff we need from the toolshed." Almost dismissively, Atkins turned away from him and walked toward the small building attached to the barn.

Joshua rolled his shoulders in yet another unsuccessful attempt to push that lingering sense of foreboding away and followed the foreman to the toolshed. A yawn escaped him as Atkins pulled the door open and went in, selecting both a pickaxe and a shovel from where they were resting against the wall and stepped aside to let him gather tools as well.

"Didn't sleep so good last night, eh?" Atkins remarked as Joshua entered the shed.

The comment was a bit unusual, coming from the usually close-mouthed foreman, but given Joshua's mood during breakfast, perhaps it wasn't unwarranted. "Snoring was a little louder than normal in the bunkhouse," he replied as he grabbed a pickaxe.

"Huh. That right?" Atkins spat at the ground and shifted his weight. "Even with the snoring, I'da figured you'da slept like a baby after spending the afternoon ridin' Widow Evans."

The comment registered almost instantly but Atkins was ready for his reaction. Before Joshua had a chance to turn, he felt the shovel slam against the back of his head.

He was surprised when he woke up, because honestly he didn't expect to be waking up at all. That alone told him that he was being kept alive for a reason. He had a blinding headache, and gingerly felt the back of his head where he'd been hit. There was an open cut back there, but it was crusted with dried blood. He had his clothes on, but Atkins had taken pretty much everything else while he'd been unconscious, including his boots. So much for the knife that he kept stashed in there.

Slowly Joshua sat up, trying to get his bearings in the small dark room. Slivers of light filtered through a few of the wood slats and the strong earthy scent of grain permeated the air. He'd been shut in the grain room, which, unfortunately, was probably the most secure place outside of the root cellar that he could have been confined. Not to mention, outside the grain scoop, it was doubtful that he'd find anything to use as a weapon when Atkins, or Hollander, for that matter, returned.

His eyes adjusted to the light enough that he could now make out where the door was, from the light shining through the gap underneath it. A pair of dark amorphous shapes were right in front of the door. His boots, but no knife. He pulled them on and got to his feet, slowly, because his headache wasn't getting any better.

Unfortunately, the small spaces between the slats weren't big enough for him to be able to see much outside the room. It was still light outside, that much he could tell, but he must have been out for a few hours if the blood from the cut on the back of his head had time to dry. The tackroom had no door handle on the inside, and bolted shut from the outside. If he put his shoulder to it, there was a chance he could force it open. He gave it a few experimental shoves, testing the strength of the wood and hinges.

"Mason, I don't want to have to shoot you before Mr. Hollander gets back, but I will if you keep that up," Atkins said from the other side of the door. The distinct sound of a gun cocking backed up his words.

Joshua took a quick step away from the door. The foreman had called him 'Mason', and not Wade, so apparently this wasn't about his past, but the present. "Alright, I'll stop," he called, then paused a moment before asking the obvious question, "What's Hollander want with me?"

A low guffaw escaped Atkins, "What's he want wit' ya? Mr. Hollander dun take exception to the fact that you've had a go at his woman, that's what he wants with ya. He wants to have a few words with ya before he shoots ya, I suspect."

"I ain't touched his woman," he immediately replied. There was silence from the other side of the door, and Joshua deliberately allowed a slight hint of fearful desperation to touch his voice. "I swear to God, I didn't touch her."

"Perkins and Scott said that you left 'em yesterday afternoon and I saw you leavin' the Evans homestead last night with my own two eyes," the foreman stated. "That means you were there half of the evenin'. And after seein' that, I'm thinking maybe her line about how you just 'look like someone she used to know' ain't the truth either, and Hollander's of a like mind. You two knowed each other from when that bootlickin' husband of hers was alive, didn't ya? Was she tumblin' you since Evans had about as much of a pecker as he had balls and two legs? You don't expect me to believe you was just there chopping wood all day, do you?"

Ironically that's exactly what he'd done almost the entire time he was there, but Joshua knew Atkins would never believe that. So the wrangler had been the one responsible for that danger itch he'd been having all last night by watching him ride home while hiding in the rocks along the ridgeline, and then again morning. Well, it was good to know that his instincts hadn't failed him yet, he supposed. He forced himself to sound even more scared, so Atkins believed that he was utterly cowed, "Where's Hollander? When'll he be here?"

This time Atkins laugh had a cruel twist to it, "The Boss has been in Bisbee all mornin', but I reckon just about now he's probably headin' o'er there to… pay Alice his respects." The insinuation was unmistakable. "He'd a gone earlier this mornin' but didn't want to chance getting' interrupted by her boys. Hell, if I didn't have to stay here'n watch you, I might'a taken a turn wit' her my own self."

It was a good thing that the grain room's door separated them, because Joshua had never before in life had such a strong urge to kill someone with his bare hands. He didn't trust himself to speak, even though he truly was afraid now, though not for himself. Pursing his lips, he trilled the whistle that called Dawson to him. While he had no idea whether or not the horse had been tied or corralled, hopefully the horse running loose would provide enough of a distraction that Atkins would be drawn away from guarding the grain room door.

"Did you just whistle?" Atkins asked incredulously.

A horse whinnied and neighed loudly. A few moments later the sound of hooves banging loudly against the side of a stall rang through the barn. Dawson became more agitated as the stall blocked his path to his master and began make even more racket, squealing with displeasure and kicking his rear hooves against the stall. His antics had the added effect of setting off the other horses in the barn, and soon it was filled with a cacophony of pawing hooves, whinnies and squeals, and the thuds of horseshoes hitting wood.

Atkins exclaimed with disbelief, "What the hell? Shut up!" He strode up the barn aisle and away from Joshua, hollering and banging on the sides of the stalls in a poor attempt to calm the horses down, but all that did was get them even more worked up. "Settle down!"

Joshua began slamming his shoulder against the door and could only hope that the sound blended in with the noises in the barn. By the third good hit, he could feel the wood begin to give. He was just about to give it a final shove, when Atkins' voice came from the other side of the door, "That's enough, Mason!"

As he had done before, he backed away from the door. However, this time, he did so to use the small amount of space in the grain room to its maximum effectiveness, lowering his shoulder and using the extra space to run at it, hitting the door with as much speed and force as he could manage.

It flew open and had the incredible luck to slam into the barrel tip of Atkins' outstretched pistol where he had pointed it at the door. The gun went off once as it was knocked out of the foreman's hand, but he didn't have time to react. Joshua's forward momentum carried him into the tall rangy Atkins, hitting him square in the chest.

The impact knocked the wind right out of the rangy foreman and he gasped for air, even as Joshua straddled his chest to hold him down. The former outlaw's face was grim and almost expressionless, but his eyes blazed with rage as he punched Atkins methodically and repeatedly, until the other man was barely breathing and his face was a ruined and bloody mess.

Even then, he had to force himself to stop. He rolled off of the other man's chest and staggered to his feet, breathing heavily as he looked around. The horses in the barn had finally quieted for the most part, though Dawson was still whinnying now and again.

His gunbelt was hanging from one of the saddle hooks near the grain room, and he quickly belted it around his waist before walking down the broad aisle of the barn unlatching and opening stall doors as he went along to set the horses free. Dawson's bridle was hanging from a hook on the stall door and Joshua slipped it onto the horse before climbing up to ride bareback. While he would have preferred to ride with a saddle, he felt like he had already taken too long as it was by freeing the horses, but he refused to resign the animals to the same fate Atkins would be facing.

Riding back up the aisle at a trot, Joshua leaned over to knock down the barely lit lantern that hung high off the ground near the grain room and tack rooms. It hit the ground a few feet away from Atkins and shattered, spraying oil around and setting light dusting of hay spread there on fire almost instantly. Dawson quivered with a horse's natural and instinctive terror of fire, and Joshua quickly directed the horse outside at a near gallop.

The fire was burning out of control, a pillar of flame that stretched upward toward the dark, grey sky before Joshua had even topped the first rise that led away from Hollander's ranch, but he didn't even notice or care. He rode hard for the Evans homestead and prayed that he wasn't too late.

Alice squinted up at the sky as she watched Mark ride off to meet his brother. Dark clouds were gathering in the West. Well, that was actually a relief. Although Hollander had promised to clear up the dam, the extra rain would be most welcome in terms of filling up the rain barrels and helping water the garden. Well water poured from watering can just didn't seem to have nearly as nice an effect on the growth of the vegetables as a long soaking rain.

Not that soaking rains were all that common in this area of the country, no, far more likely were the sudden cloudbursts of torrential rain that led to dangerous flash floods.

She went back inside and stared critically at the floors. It was Friday, which meant she'd spent most of the day cleaning. Thankfully, she was on the last part of that, scrubbing the floors. The kitchen and main room had been scrubbed clean, but she still had the two small bedrooms left to do. She picked up the bucket of water and scrub brush and headed into Mark and Will's room, starting there first.

A short time later, she was kneeling on the floor in her bedroom, rhythmically scrubbing the brush across the floor when she heard the sound of a single horse approaching. A faint quiver of excitement ran through her at the thought that perhaps Joshua had come to visit again, but she sternly quashed that frivolous emotion as she got to her feet.

Using a rag to wipe her hands dry, Alice walked toward the door, noting with some surprise that the lone horseman was Glen Hollander. That was unexpected, as the landowner never came to visit without at least one of his lackeys.

She watched him dismount and as he slowly ambled toward her, she said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Hollander," with exquisite politeness, though her eyes slid past him and up the road. She halfway expected to see the foreman Tom Atkins appear at any moment, riding over the hill.

"Expecting someone else?" Glen inquired coldly as he climbed the single step to the porch.

Alice blinked, not just at the question, but the tone. "Excuse me?"

He took off his Townsend hat and lazily ran his blue eyes over her slim figure, not even bothering to disguise his stare. "Looked like you were expectin' someone else. He ain't coming."

Deciding the best way to deal with his ogling was to ignore it completely, Alice shook her head. "I can assure you, Mr. Hollander, I'm not expecting anyone. Especially not with the weather changing like this," she added after glancing skyward, where it storm clouds were brewing.

Hollander studied her face and laughed shortly, "You know, you really had me fooled. I mean, for months now, I've been trying to give you time, seeing as how you're a grieving widow and all, biding my time until the right moment, until you came to me, asking for help, and now I see I was goin' about it all wrong. If I'd just come up to you and told you what I wanted, I think I'd have had a better chance of getting' it from you, wouldn't I?"

"Mr. Hollander, I think that it's time for you to leave," she said very firmly and turned away from him to go back inside.

Before she could, Glen reached out and grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him as continued. "Now I see that if I'd just told you I wanted you, you'd have just smiled and spread your legs for me the way you did for Mason, instead of acting like an icy, uppity bitch."

Alice slapped him across the face almost before she even realized what she was doing. "Get out of my house," she hissed, trying to wretch her arm free.

His head jerked to the side as she hit him, but when he looked at her again, he was almost smiling. Almost negligently, he backhanded her in retaliation, and his smile broadened at her sharp gasp of pain. "No, actually I don't think I'll be going anywhere just yet. The land is mine, the house is mine, and I think it's high time that I make you mine as well, don't you?" he said conversationally as he forced her through the doorway into the house.

She began struggling in earnest as the implicit meaning behind his words sank in, first clawing at his hand that firmly gripped her forearm, and then at his face when that didn't work. She didn't bother screaming, because it wouldn't have done any good. There was no one around to hear. Her fingernails were too blunt to do any real damage, but when she managed to gash the skin beside his left eye, he'd had enough and slammed her against the wall by the throat.

"Alice," Glen gritted through clenched teeth, mere inches away from her face, "I'm trying to be a loving suitor here, but you're not making it very easy. This would go a whole lot easier if you just relaxed and enjoyed the ride, what do you say?"

Defiantly, she spat at him, hitting him right in the eye as she struggled against the hand that was tightening around her neck and lashed out with her feet, trying to kick him.

This time when Glen hit her back, he used his fist. Between that and the choking grip around her throat, Alice could remain conscious no longer.

A few minutes later, she came to again, aware enough to realize that at some point, he'd taken off her drawers and pushed up her skirt and he was over her and in her, grunting, with his hand still around her throat and his hot breath steaming against her cheek. He mashed a wet kiss to her lips and again she defied him, biting his lip as hard as she could, hard enough that the coppery taste of his blood filled her mouth. He jerked his head away from her right as she spit his blood back out of her mouth, aiming for his eyes again. She missed his face and hit his pristine white shirt instead.

"Bitch," he cursed and began to choke her again until she saw stars and when the world went black this time, she was relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia  
> Rape in pioneer days was rarely reported, and even then, perpetrators were rarely convicted. Invariably, the character of the woman was brought into question. The apt phrase, "In a rape case it is the victim, not the defendant, who is on trial" originated in the 17th century courtesy of Lord Chief Justice Sir Matthew Hale, and even now in modern criminal courts, this still tends to be the case, though now there has been a shift in perception that rape is about having power and control, not merely about sex.  
> This chapter is different from all the other chapters in that not once does Joshua quote a Bible verse. Just a little FYI. Did you catch that?


	7. Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A narrow escape. The aftermath. Wrath leads to vengeance leads to death.

From the sound of the thunder rolling in the distance and the low cloud cover, it was clear to Will and Mark that if they didn't get the herd home soon, they'd soon be caught out in the rain. That wasn't a healthy prospect at all, considering Mark's tuberculosis. Even though it'd been more than a year since he'd shown symptoms of the disease, if he got a cold or stayed outside too long in wet clothes and damp conditions, it could return with a vengeance. Not to mention, any sudden crack of lightning or unusually loud rumbles of thunder had the potential to send the increasingly nervous cattle into a stampede, which had its own potentially deadly consequences.

So they began moving the animals along at a faster pace than normal, trying to get back to the ranch as quickly as possible. Rain wasn't typical in Arizona Territory, especially this time of year, but when it did rain, the downpour had a tendency to be torrential and flash floods weren't uncommon in this region.

The beeves trotted along at a steady clip, not quite running, but definitely moving faster than their usual shambling pace, and eventually the animals started over the low rise that lead home. The ranch came into view for Will and Mark a few minutes later as they came up behind the herd.

Will pulled up on Nate's reins as he saw a lone horseman riding off to the west, moving away from the ranch. Even from this distance, he could tell it was Glen Hollander. The landowner's dapple grey stallion, Townsend hat and expensive grey coat were unmistakable.

Mark saw him as well and said, "Isn't that Hollander?" even though he already knew it was. "What's he doin' here for again?"

"I don't know," Will answered uneasily, watching until the man was out of sight and then looking back at their ranch with a slight frown on his face. Two visits in the same week from the landowner was two visits too many, in his opinion.

The familiar sight and scent of home enticed the cattle enough that they picked up their pace to a slow rolling gallop and flowed down the hill into the large corral that awaited them.

"Where's Ma?" Mark abruptly asked, just as Will realized something wasn't quite right.

Their mother was nowhere to be seen, and that alone was odd. Alice always watched Will and Mark ride away in the mornings, and she was always waiting on the front porch for their return in the evenings. Their arrival was invariably heralded by the sound of hundreds of hooves, so she had plenty of warning and had never yet missed their return.

"Help me get the rest of these cows penned up and I'll go see where she is," William ordered authoritatively, even as he slapped his hand against his thigh to encourage the stragglers along a bit faster.

"She ain't never not been standing on the porch waitin' for us," Mark said, worriedly looking at Will. "You think everything's ok?"

Mustering a smile for his brother, Will stated firmly, "I'm sure everything's fine," and tried to convince himself the words were true. But he could just feel that something wasn't right, and although Mark nodded without saying anything, he could see the boy was of a similar mind.

When Alice still had not appeared by the time Mark was closing the gate to the corral, Will knew something was definitely wrong. He rode his horse toward the house and jumped off before the gelding had even come to a complete stop. "Ma?" he called nervously as he hurriedly made his way through the doorway.

Silence was his only answer.

Trying to keep panic out of his voice, he shouted this time, "Ma?" and frantically began to search for her. He didn't have to look for long though. She was in the first room off of the living room, strewn across the bed like a broken doll.

Will stared in stark horror for a moment, instantly catapulted back to that moment when his father had died, and the train's slow chugging engine had throbbed exactly in rhythm with his dying heart until both had stopped. He knew he would not be able to bear his mother dying in his arms in the same way.

Mark's worried voice calling his name broke the silence, calling him back to the present, and blinking away tears, Will realized she was still breathing. Her calico dress was hiked grotesquely up and around her hips, exposing her startlingly white flesh and, naïve as Will was, he instantly realized exactly Hollander had done to her. He rushed over to her side, pulling her dress down to cover her skin before Mark came in.

Someone—presumably Hollander—had clearly hit her in the face more than once judging from her split lip and her swollen cheek. And her neck, God, all the bruises encircling the skin there made it look as though she'd been hung from the gallows. But she was alive, and didn't have any bullet holes or obvious bloody wounds and that was a relief in and of itself.

"Ma?" Will whispered, drawing her into his arms. She flinched, but didn't awaken.

"Is she ok?" Mark asked breathlessly from the door, his small face drawn and frightened.

Brushing a wisp of hair away from her face as he stared down at her, Will hesitated and then answered honestly, "I don't know."

Mark bit his lip as he came closer to the bed, "What'd he do to her?" He reached out to take her limp hand in his, the way she had done so many times to him when he'd been feeling the worst of his tuberculosis. "Ma? Ma, wake up, it's me, Mark."

Will shut his eyes tightly at Mark's question and swallowed back the lump in his throat. There was no way he'd ever tell his brother the full extent of what their mother had been through. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions firmly in check and gently began moving her up the bed, so that her head rested on the pillow. "Mark, can you go draw some fresh water and bring me a towel?"

He nodded immediately, looking relieved to be given something helpful to do and hurried out of the room. "I'll be right back," Mark called as he grabbed a bucket off of the porch and ran toward the well.

As soon as he was gone, Will tried again to wake Alice up. "Ma? Ma…" He was reluctant to shake her because he feared she might think she was being attacked again, and leaned down to speak softly in her ear, "Ma… it's ok to wake up now… he's gone. It's just your sons here now, Will and Mark."

Her eyelids fluttered and suddenly, she went from unconsciousness to fully awake and fighting in an instant, thrashing and kicking at Will. He narrowly avoided getting hit in the face and held up his hands to dodge her blows as he quickly backed out of her range of attack. She rolled off the bed on the opposite side, using it as a shield between them, and the dazed and frightened look in her eyes as she looked around, trying to get her bearings, near about broke his heart. Finally she focused on him and croaked hoarsely, "Will?"

He smiled, shakily at best, and could not stop the tear from rolling down his cheek. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me, William. Mark's here too, he went to go get you some water."

Her gaze shifted from his face down to the bed between them, the now rumpled quilt that Hollander had used her on, and she crumpled to the floor, sobbing brokenly.

Will hurried around the bed and knelt down beside her, gathering her in his arms to hug her tightly. "It's all right, everything will be all right," he whispered against her hair, not knowing what else to say as she clung to him as though she were drowning. He was aghast at how small and frail she seemed, because she'd always been such a source of strength and support in their lives. Even when he and Butterfield had returned from Contention with his father's body, she had maintained her composure, though of course she had wept for the loss of her husband. But that had been as nothing compared to the wracking sobs that shook her body now.

The thump of a bucket hitting the floor announced Mark's return, and a moment later he was there hugging her too, crying as well.

The small family huddled together on the floor by the bed until Alice's weeping had subsided, though her breathing was still ragged and uneven.

"I wish Pa had killed him, back after he had our barn set on fire," Mark mumbled against his mother's shoulder. "I wish he was dead."

Alice's eyes were still shut tightly and her voice was rough, not just from the crying but from the damage to her throat, as she admitted, "I wish he was too."

At their words, a smoldering rage began to build in his chest as Will thought over all the ways that Hollander had hurt his family over the years, from the derision and disrespect he'd always shown them to burning their barn… if Glen Hollander had been dead, his father would still be alive, and his mother would not have been forced to endure an attack so terrible that he couldn't even begin to fathom what she was going through emotionally right now. He gave his brother and Ma a final tight hug before rolling to his feet, his face set with grim determination.

Surprised by the abruptness of his brother's departure, Mark asked, "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna do what Pa shoulda done two years ago," he announced firmly and turned to walk out the door.

"Will." Alice's face was conflicted as she lifted her battered face and regarded her son's resolute expression and instinctively knew there was nothing she could say that would stop him. In truth, she wasn't even sure she wanted to. "Be careful," she finally whispered, closing her eyes to the fact that she had just potentially resigned her son to his father's fate.

The scent of impending rain was heavy in the air as Joshua rode hard for the Evans ranch. The distance there from the Bar-H ranch was not much as the crow flies, but the uneven, mountainous terrain that served as a barrier between the two was dangerous enough that he was forced to slow down and let Dawson pick his way among the rocks or risk the gelding breaking a leg.

Once they were clear of the ridgeline and had headed down into the valley below, he clicked his tongue at Dawson, giving the horse his head so the animal could run freely. They were only about a mile beyond the ridge when Joshua caught sight a horseman riding in his direction. He drew his Colt pistol as the distance quickly closed between them, drew a bead down the gunsight and aimed carefully in time with the rhythm of Dawson's gallops before firing.

The bullet hit the rocks just in front of Hollander's horse, exploding upward and startling the grey stallion. It reared up immediately and the landowner struggled to keep his seat in the saddle. He lost the battle when Joshua fired a second time at the horse's feet, falling off backwards and landing heavily on the ground. He lay there for a moment, groaning in pain from the impact on the hard rocky surface, but as he saw Joshua riding up, he fumbled for the gun that was still buckled in his holster.

Joshua fired again, and this time he didn't miss. The bullet caught Hollander in the fleshy part of his right forearm, causing him to wail in pain as he clutched his arm to his chest.

He used his free hand to draw Dawson to a stop and slid to the ground while keeping his gun trained on the landowner. "I hear you got something you want to say to me," he said, smiling grimly down at the man. "Take your gun out and drop it on the ground. Slowly." He cocked his pistol in warning.

Grimacing with pain, Glen nodded, still holding his bloodied arm to his chest. Joshua stared in disbelief as he reached with his left hand and carefully pulled an unmistakably familiar black-handled pistol out of the holster and dropped it to the ground between them.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded, unable to believe that Hollander had his custom made Colt this entire time, and he'd never once noticed.

"I bought it in an auction yesterday in Tombstone," Hollander grunted, looking up at his captor. "It belonged to Ben Wade," he stated and spat at the ground in disgust. "That murderin' son of a bitch killed one of my men a couple years back. Only right I should get his gun, now that he's dead and gone."

Joshua almost laughed out loud at the irony of it all. "Didn't anyone tell you that gun's cursed? The only person that ain't touched by the curse of that gun is Ben Wade himself."

Glen snorted derisively. "Cursed. Bullshit. I don't believe in curses." The thunder rolled ominously from overhead as though God Himself opposed that statement of disbelief.

The amusement faded from Joshua's face. "You should." He swapped his gun to the opposite hand as he walked toward Hollander and squatted down in front of the other man to pick up the Hand of God, hefting its familiar weight in his hand. His blue-green eyes were flinty as he continued almost casually, "You know, your man Tucker was just about the most unpleasant man I've ever had the misfortune to run into, and given the usual type of rustabouts and desperados I had in my gang, that ought to tell you something about his character."

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, and Glen Hollander stared back at him in fear as understanding dawned.

"I can't believe you didn't recognize me, even after all this time," he said and rose back to his feet. "I mean, hell, you were right there in the saloon when the Marshall and his men captured me. I figure that makes you near about as much of a dumb shit as Tucker was. And I gotta say, killing him felt pretty damn good," Joshua admitted with a sly grin as he studied Hollander. His gaze sharpened as he suddenly noticed that bright red blood from the landowner's arm was mingling with a darker stain of dried blood on his white shirt. "That Alice Evans' blood?"

Hollander shivered visibly at the cold fury in the other man's eyes and sensing his answer might be the difference between life and death, chose to tell a poor half-truth. "It's mine, I swear to God, it's my blood. I bit my lip earlier…. Ah, my horse tripped and I just caught my lip between my teeth and the blood got on my shirt… On my honor, it's my blood, may God strike me down if I'm lying."

It seemed as though God was debating following through with that, as lightning cracked across the sky, followed a few seconds later by long rumble of thunder.

Joshua cocked the Hand of God and pointed it at Hollander's face when a flicker of movement beyond the landowner caught his attention and he held his fire as he realized it was Will Evans, riding at them as fast and as hard as his horse could carry him.

The teenager reached them a few moments and after drawing his horse up to stop, almost leaped off his horse, his face contorted with rage as he ran toward the landowner.

"Will!" Joshua's voice cracked out when he realized the boy's intent.

He was in no mood to listen and he launched himself at Hollander, bowling the older man over, and no sooner had he done so than the thunderstorm finally broke. It was as though the bottom had dropped out of the heavens from the torrential rain that began falling and lightning cracked across the dark sky above.

The man and boy rolled together, kicking and scuffling, Will throwing punches at Glen's face that missed more than they hit given his youth and inexperience. Luckily though, the landowner was nearly as inept in fist fighting, given that he was wont to hire men to do his fighting for him and being additionally hampered by his injured forearm.

The wall of rain made it impossible for Joshua to take a shot at Hollander, because it was impossible to pick out where Hollander ended and Will began, especially with them tussling together on the ground. He kept his gun trained on the two as they fought, looking for a clear shot.

"Why couldn't you just leave us alone?" the boy shouted and inadvertently got in a lick on Hollander that hit right on his injured forearm, inducing a howl of pain. Will immediately recognized the weak spot on the older man and began targeting that arm with his fists, ranting, "All we wanted was to be left alone! Hadn't you done enough to us? But you couldn't do that, could you? You just couldn't leave us alone!"

Hollander was fighting a losing battle at this point, despite his advantage in size and reach. The blood loss from his arm and excruciating pain from it being hit were so much that he'd given up on hitting the boy back and was just trying to fend off the worst of the blows.

Will had started crying now as more than two years of pent up frustration and anger and hatred against this man who had been ultimately responsible for so many things that had gone wrong in his life could no longer be contained. His inability to stop his tears fueled his anger even more as he continued raving, accentuating each wrong-doing with a fist to Hollander's body, "You dammed up our creek, you burned our barn, you killed my father, you raped my mother and nearly killed her," his voice cracked in a ragged sob, "You deserve to die!"

Ignoring the rain that continued to fall down around them, Joshua exhaled slowly and barely managed to control his own rage at hearing what the landowner had done to Alice. He had suspected it just from what Atkins said and Hollander's poor attempt at lying regarding the blood on his shirt, but hearing the words spoken, almost torn from the throat of William… The boy was right. Glen Hollander deserved to die, and would get exactly what he deserved.

The landowner's moans of pain were audible even over the rain and almost constant rolls of thunder, and Will's rage had finally started to burn itself out. He still had enough energy to grab Hollander's jacket coat and lift him upwards. "I wish I could kill you over and over again, so you could hurt as bad as you hurt us," he rasped hoarsely and punched him in the face one last time. Then he kicked the man's body away from him before he broke down completely in racking, shuddering sobs.

Hollander had curled into a fetal position, whimpering in pain like a wounded beast.

Joshua walked over and put his hand on the boy's shoulder, wordlessly offering the only support he knew how to give.

Apparently it was enough, because Will seemed to draw strength from the consoling touch. He drew in a deep breath and wiped his face on his sopping wet sleeve, even though the tears had long since mingled with the falling rain. "Thanks," he said, looking up at the man as he struggled to his feet.

Nodding in acknowledgement, Joshua gave the boy's shoulder a final squeeze before turning his attention to Hollander. He raised the Hand of God and his finger tightened on the trigger.

"No!" Will said, stopping him right before he fired by putting his hand on the former outlaw's forearm. "I want to do it," he declared and pulled out his own gun to point at the landowner, glaring at the man, who was still curled in a ball on the muddy ground.

Joshua hesitated and slowly lowered his gun. "Are you sure?" he asked, looking at Will's strained face.

"Ain't I earned the right?" Will demanded, his jaw set grimly as he aimed at the landowner. "After all he's done to us, haven't I earned the right to do this?"

His blue-green eyes were troubled as Joshua regarded Will, but he couldn't deny the boy's words. It had been his family that'd been wronged by Hollander, not Joshua's, and as thus, certainly Will deserved to be the one that killed the landowner. "No, you've more than earned the right, but… your Pa was right. Killin' a man, even a man like Hollander, ain't like killin' a jackrabbit, or any animal. If you're willin' to take a man's life, you gotta be willin' to live with yourself, with what you've done, afterwards. Regardless of the reason you killed him for. You reckon you can do that?"

Will's gun barrel quivered at the man's words and he swallowed painfully, gritting his teeth. "He's gotta die. I can't let him live so he can hurt us again." Hollander was motionless now, a mottled brown lump in the mud.

"I ain't denyin' that," Joshua replied, turning his body so that he and Will were face to face as he looked the boy in the eye. "Your Pa was right, you've grown into a fine young man and you've got all the best parts of him in you. You've started on the path of decency, he told me once. And you're many things, but you ain't a killer. You ain't no murderer, not like I am. And I can tell you, son, that's not a path you want to go down, because once you do, once you kill someone, you can't take it back. Not now, not ever."

His hand shook, but after a long moment of indecision, Will finally lowered the gun and took a deep breath.

The instant the barrel lowered, Hollander moved in a burst of motion and shot off the tiny Derringer pistol he must have had stashed in his boot.

Whipping around, Joshua fired the Hand of God, hitting the landowner right between the eyes and killing him instantly. Will's pistol fired a wink later, despite the fact that he'd been facing Glen Hollander when the first shot had been fired. His bullet hit the dead man in the chest.

The rain had finally started to slack off as the worst of the storm passed, nearly as quickly as it had arrived. Joshua turned to look at Will, who was staring down at the dark red blood from the bullet wound in his left shoulder. "No!" he cried out and lunged forward to catch the boy just as he dropped like a felled tree, his blood mingling with the rain water on the ground.

"Will? William?" He cradled the boy to his chest, shaking him gently as he tried to fight back his fear. "Oh God, come on, William. Wake up, look at me. Will?"

Raindrops sprinkled across the boy's face as his eyelids flickered open, his green eyes dilated with shock and pain as he stared up at the man holding him. "Did we get him?" he whispered. "Is he dead?"

Joshua hesitated and then nodded. "Yeah. We got him," he answered, forcing himself to smile as his tears mingled with the rain falling on his face.

The barest of smiles touched Will's lips before he slumped in Joshua's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO TRIVIA. So sorry :( I was too wrung out to come up with anything after these last two chapters.


	8. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More aftermath. Alice wonders if she will lose Will too

**_Chapter 8: Faith_ **

After Will left, Alice and Mark sat together on the floor until the boy began to squirm and she reluctantly released him. He scrambled to his feet and watched as she got up as well, far more slowly, wincing at the unpleasant soreness in her body, especially between her legs.

She forced herself to look at the bed. The quilt draped across it had been a wedding gift from the women in her family, but the mere thought of ever sleeping under it or in the bed itself made her swallow down bile so that she didn't retch. She could still feel the coppery tang of Hollander's blood in her mouth and the slime between her thighs where he had used her. This time, she couldn't stop her disgusted reaction, and barely reached the bucket Mark had put on the floor before she heaved violently into the water there.

Mark looked on helplessly as she emptied what little was in her stomach. When she had been reduced to the occasional dry heave, he held out a crumpled towel for her to wipe her mouth with.

"Thank you," Alice croaked through her tortured throat and got back to her feet. She was a little more in control now, but never in her life had she wanted a bath more than she did right now. Every place on her body that Hollander had touched seemed to burn with his filth and she wanted to scrub it away.

"You should take a bath," Mark said, peering up at her with a slight frown on his face.

She froze for an instant at his words. Was it so obvious, what the landowner had done to her, that even her youngest son would not be spared from knowing? She hesitantly met his gaze but there was no confusion, shame, or worse, accusation, in his eyes, just the simple concern of a boy worried about his mother.

"You always feel better when you take a bath, I know it makes you feel special," he continued and picked up the bucket. "I'll start filling up the bathtub." Mark took a few steps and turned with his head slightly lowered, biting his lip as he mumbled, "I'm sorry we wasn't here to stop him from hittin' you. We shoulda been here. Boys shouldn't hit girls and men shouldn't hit ladies. I don't know why he hit you but I'm glad that Will is gonna make it so he never hurts you again." He seemed on the verge of saying more but gave a slight shake of his head and went into the sitting room.

Alice leaned weakly against the door frame and watched as Mark built up the fire to warm the room and set the pot of water there to boiling. Then he hauled the small bathtub across the floor to put in front of the fire before heading outside with the bucket. "Be back in a jiffy," he announced.

Tears stung Alice's eyes briefly at his uncomplicated display of love and kindness, and she inhaled and exhaled slowly. Standing here feeling sorry for herself wasn't doing anyone any good. She straightened and looked around her bedroom.

A scrap of white fabric on the floor near the foot of the bed turned out to be the drawers that Hollander had stripped off of her body while she was unconscious. Without really thinking about it, she picked them up, carried them to the living room and threw them into the fire. Watching them light up and burn felt surprisingly satisfying. She briefly debated stripping right then and there and tossing the rest of her clothes into the fire, but Mark came in just then to dump a bucket of water in the bathtub. They weren't a rich family and thus, didn't have many clothes at all. If he saw her burning her dress, he was liable to ask questions she wouldn't (or couldn't) answer.

She decided she could bear wearing her clothing for a little longer and went to her dresser to withdraw a clean dress, chemise, and drawers. To the small stack of clean clothes, she added her bar of vanilla soap, a towel, and a washing cloth.

Mark had worked quickly to fill up the bathtub ahead of the coming storm, and as she poured the boiling water in to heat up the tub, he said, "I'll go do some of my chores in the barn while you're in here… and don't worry, I'll try to stay out of the rain, I promise." Impulsively, he gave her a quick hug and a smile before he ran outside.

No sooner had he closed the door behind him than Alice began stripping out of her dress and tossed it into the fire, followed shortly by her chemise and her socks. She stood there watching it burn, naked and shivering despite the heat of the roaring fire.

Outside, it had started raining so hard the sound of the large drops pelting the roof was almost deafening.

After a moment's consideration, she went into the bedroom and pulled the soiled quilt off the bed. She was on the verge of putting that into the fire as well when she realized the fabric would be too thick and heavy to burn all at once, it'd just smother the fire. So she got her scissors out of her sewing basket and cut the blanket into smaller pieces before burning those as well. Her hands throbbed with pain by the time the last scrap of the quilt had been thrown on the fire, but she didn't care.

Alice climbed into the small tub and soaked in the hot water for a few moments, stretching out her hands in an attempt to work the ache out of them. When the pain had lessened to a more manageable level, she set to lathering her hair with the vanilla soap, rubbing it into her scalp until her fingertips hurt before she was willing to rinse it clear. By the time she had finished washing every inch of her body with the soapy cloth, her skin was pink and raw from how hard she had scrubbed, and even then she was unable to completely scour away the memory of the landowner's touch.

That made her start crying again, the thought that even when—not if—Hollander was dead, she would still remember what he had done to her and how it had felt. The bathwater was lukewarm when her weeping finally subsided and she splashed some onto her face, wincing as she touched her swollen left cheek. She still hadn't had a look at herself in a looking glass, but imagined she looked a horrible sight. _That just means I look as bad as I feel_ , she thought to herself and grimaced.

Alice climbed off out of the small tub and began toweling off, realizing that at some point during her bath, the rain had stopped. She had just dried off enough to pull on her drawers when she heard hoofbeats approaching the house. There followed some muffled sounds as the rider apparently dismounted, and a rising sense of panic filled her. Had Hollander returned? Frantically, she grabbed her chemise and was struggling to pull it over her head when suddenly she heard Mark's high pitched exclamation, "Will!"

Will had returned. Thank God. Her hands were still shaking with anxiety when she slipped her arms through the short sleeves and she took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her emotions. She had to be strong, not for herself but for her sons. There was no sense in making them also suffer the effects what of Hollander had done to her.

Joshua's deep and unmistakable voice spoke a moment later from just on the other side of the door. "Open it," he commanded, and his tone brokered no room for argument.

Mark opened the door a breath later to Alice's shock and dismay, and she didn't even have time enough to grab the towel to cover herself before Joshua came in, carrying Will's body cradled in his arms. Any fear for herself or concerns about modesty vanished when she saw her son, and her spirit shriveled at how much blood there was on his clothes. Hadn't their family been through enough? "Will?" she rasped out, anguished.

Joshua only glanced at her for a moment when he followed Mark into the house and he cast about for a place to set Will down. "Where can I put him?" he demanded, hefting the boy upward once to maintain his secure grip, and Will shuddered and moaned in a pained response.

That sound startled Alice into action. Her son was _alive,_ for now anyway, but she couldn't stand there like a frightened ninny and expect him to get better. She pointed toward her bedroom, ordering, "Put him in there, on the bed," as she grabbed her dress and put it on, fumbling in her haste to button the front as quickly as possible. She tied her wet and tangled hair into a knot at the base of her neck to get it out of her way.

Mark was anxious with fear as he followed Joshua into the bedroom and watched as the man carefully lay Will down on the down mattress. "Is he gonna be all right? What happened? Did he get shot?" he asked in a rush of questions without taking his eyes off his brother.

Joshua didn't answer straight away, just stood staring down at William. When Alice hurried to the bedside, moving past him to reach her son's head, he glanced away from the boy long enough to look at her. She was dimly aware that his lips tightened and his blue-green eyes lit up with anger at the sight of her face and neck, but she only had eyes for her son.

Will's hair and muddied clothing were still wet from the rain and the bloodstain on his shirt was enormous, the darkest part of the stain centering on his upper left part of his chest, about a hands-breadth below his shoulder. Small shivers were beginning to shake his body and Alice reached out and felt his forehead. His skin was cold and clammy.

"Help me get him out of these wet clothes," she directed Joshua, her voice harsh and strained as she started unbuttoning her son's shirt. "Mark, go get him some dry clothes." The boy ran out of the room and she added, "Bring me the blankets from your room, too." As the two adults worked together to get Will out of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, Alice gasped audibly as she saw the small ragged hole seeping blood in his upper chest.

She hurried back out to the main room and grabbed her damp bath towel, returning quickly to begin wiping the worst of the mud off of Will's face and chest.

She was about to blot the wound itself as well when Joshua spoke up, quietly directing her, "Don't touch the towel to it… just all around it. Look how much dirt you got on that cloth already, if you rub it against the hole, all that mud will get in there, an' it might make him even worse off. Get a clean cloth that ain't been used and press that against it instead."

Alice inhaled quickly at the thought of inadvertently making Will even sicker, and she carefully avoided the gunshot wound though she continued to wipe up the congealed blood on his chest with the damp towel. She set it aside and went to her chest of drawers and pulled out some large handkerchiefs and gently pressed a couple of them against the boy's injury as a compress. "Is that the only place he was hit?" she asked, looking up at the man on the opposite side of the bed.

"Yes," he replied briefly as he dropped Will's shirt to the floor and then worked to pull the boy's boots off.

"Are you sure?" Alice pressed, staring hard at him.

Joshua met her gaze and for the first time that she could recall, he didn't bother shuttering his emotions behind that detached expressionless façade or sardonic amusement he usually displayed. Alice found herself taken aback by the helpless frustration and anger she saw in his eyes. _He blames himself for all of this_ , she immediately realized, _not just what's happened to Will, but what happened to me as well._ "I'm sure," he stated grimly as he dropped the boots.

She didn't trust herself to respond aloud so merely nodded instead and focused on working Will out of his trousers as quickly as possible. He was now shuddering violently, his teeth chattering and his breath shallow.

Alice glanced at Joshua as they worked together, suddenly realizing that he also had blood on his clothing, and that they were just as wet the ones they were working to peel off of Will's body. "Are you hurt, too?" she asked, straightening to examine him.

He seemed surprised by her question until he followed her gaze to where she was looking at the blood on his shirt front. "I'm all right. It's his blood, not mine," he explained simply, bending over the bed again to lift Will's leg up to pull the pant leg off.

Mark returned, his arms laden with clothes and blankets and dumped them on the chair by the door. "I got it all," he announced, watching as the two adults pulled the clean and dry pair of pants onto Will and then spread the blankets out over his lower body. A slight frown appeared on his face as he noted something was missing from the scene, and he wondered, "What happened to the quilt that was on the bed? Couldn't we use that to keep him warm, too?"

Alice faltered at the question, darting a quick glance at Joshua to see if he noticed, but he seemed to be focused on tucking the blankets around Will. "Never mind that," she ground out, though internally, she was regretting her hasty and emotion-driven decision to burn the thick blanket in the first place. The quilt had been well-made and she'd shared many a cold night under it curled up against Dan during happier days.

"Does Bisbee have a doctor?" Joshua asked gruffly, straightening and staring down at Will's wound. "That bullet's still in there. A Derringer ain't a powerful enough pistol to make a bullet go clear through, not where he's been hit."

She hesitated a fraction of a second before changing out the blood-soaked handkerchiefs on Will's injury for some of the unused ones she still held in her hand. While the blood wasn't gushing from the injury, it was still seeping at a steady enough pace that she'd soon be running out of kerchiefs to use. "Yes. There's Doc Hall…" her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"But Ma," Mark regarded her anxiously, "You said Doc Hall weren't nothin' but a snake oil peddler and a drunk, 'member? You sure you wanna get him to see to Will?"

Joshua looked sharply at her at Mark's words. "Is he the only doctor in the whole damn town? Bisbee's twice as big as it was when I was here two years ago, and it still doesn't have a damn doctor?"

Alice shook her head, "We haven't had a doctor that's stayed more than six months since Doc Potter… and he was just an animal doctor," she added with a sad little smile. She'd been fond of the red-haired and speckled Potter.

Exhaling in irritation, Joshua stared down at Will. "Doc Potter may not have been more'n an animal doctor but he had enough skills to get Byron McElroy on his feet again after he got gutshot," he noted, his voice tinged with something resembling grudging respect for the dead physician.

Sighing with resignation, Alice leaned down to get a closer look at her son's injury. For the first time in her life, she truly regretted that she'd been too young to help out nursing the Union soldiers who'd ended up in some of the Boston hospitals during the War Between the States. Knowing firsthand how to tend gunshot wounds and remove bullets would have been invaluable right now.

The square kerchiefs Alice had been using to clean up Will's injury were rapidly becoming stained with blood, and she knew she'd need more cloths soon. She walked out into the sitting room where the linen chest was and unlatched the lid, opening it wide. As she piled the linens and towels into her arm, she happened to catch sight of the red Bible, sitting next to the Jules Verne book she'd been reading the previous night. That seemed like an eternity ago.

She absently shut the linen chest and walked back into the bedroom, her brows drawn together in thought. Mark was gathering up Will's bloody and wet clothes from the floor, holding them somewhat away from his body with a wrinkled nose.

"Just put those in the tub for now, they'll need to soak if the blood's ever going to come out," Alice told him as she lay the linens down at the foot of the bed. When the boy left the room, she stared across the bed at Joshua, coming to a decision. "Mr. Mason…" she said haltingly and then gave a slight shake of her head. Given what she was going to ask him to do, she saw no point in maintaining the stilted formality she had used with him in the past. She drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes to find him staring at her, a questioning look on his face. "Joshua. I don't suppose you've read any medical books, have you?"

Her question caught Joshua completely off guard, not only because she had used his name for the first time, but because for some reason, he was reminded of that moment when he'd been in the train depot, waiting for the 3:10 train to Yuma to arrive (late, as it turned out) when Dan Evans had announced out of the blue, "I ain't stubborn."

His reaction now was pretty much the same as it'd been then. "What?" he blinked, cocking his head and wondering if he'd misheard her.

Alice injected a little more strength into her question, though her voice was still rough and sore from the damage Hollander had done to her neck. "I asked if you'd ever read any medical books. You told us you never forget anything you read," she reminded him, "and that got me to wondering if you'd read any books about caring for wounds or injuries and the like."

Joshua was on the verge of laughing it off until he studied her bruised face. The very sight of her and knowing what she'd endured at the landowner's hands made him wish Will had not been around when he'd caught up with Hollander, because he would have made the bastard suffer for so long, it'd make what he'd done to Bill Gardner seem like a tender mercy. There was no hint of humor or jest in her serious green eyes. "Even if by chance, I'd read some books like that, it still wouldn't make me a doctor," he eventually said.

Mark returned from his errand to stand beside his mother and looked between the two adults, sensing that he'd walked in on some manner of important discussion.

The barest hint of a smile touched her lips at his words. "I'm well aware of that." Alice paused and continued, "However, I'm more willing to put Will's chances of survival in the hands of a man who never forgets a word he reads, regardless of whether or not he's a doctor, than I am to put them in the hands of a so-called doctor who spends all day in a drunken stupor because he's spent too much imbibing his own miracle cures."

Joshua turned away from her, resting his hand on one of the bedposts as he stared down at Will. He was still shivering, despite the heavy blankets wrapped around his legs and lower torso. The boy's injury was fairly innocuous as far as bullet wounds went, but left unattended, the small .40 caliber round in his body was as good as a death sentence. He didn't look at Alice or Mark as he spoke, "He could die. You know that, right? You understand what you're asking me to do? If I do something wrong and he dies…" He couldn't complete the sentence.

"You wouldn't let him die," Mark said immediately, with the absolute certainty of a child's simple and unshakeable faith.

Alice's voice was quiet, "I know he _will_ die if the bullet isn't taken out… and I know that if it's taken out by Doc Hall, assuming he is sober enough to get here sometime this evening, his chances probably won't be much better." She walked deliberately around the bed to stand beside him and when Joshua still wouldn't meet her eyes, she put her hand on his forearm. "You can do this. I have faith in you. We both do," she added as Mark came up beside her and she hugged her son with her other arm. "If Will were awake and aware enough, he'd be of a like mind, but I think you know that."

He closed his eyes at her words, at the trust she was offering, and his chest hurt from the effort it took him to stifle the unfamiliar emotions welling up inside him. After a long silence, the man who had once been known as Ben Wade turned to look at them and his expression was tortured. "How can you, of all people, have faith in me, knowing the things I've done and who I am?"

She stared up at him, struggling on how exactly to express her reasoning and simple belief, when suddenly the words came to her, and she quoted, "'Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.'"

Mark tilted his head, looking at his mother. "Is that from Proverbs?" he asked curiously.

"It's Hebrews 11:1," Joshua informed him automatically, though his blue-green eyes lingered on Alice's. He squared his shoulders and gave a decisive nod. "Alright, I'll do it… but I'm going to need some help."

Alice sighed with relief at his answer and nodded, removing her hand from his arm. "Of course, we'll do whatever we can to help."

"You need my help too?" Mark inquired hopefully.

The boy's eagerness made Joshua smile, "Yes, I'll need your help too." He turned his attention back to Will and tried to remember everything he'd ever read about doctoring people, caring for gun shot wounds and removing bullets. That turned out to be a surprisingly large amount of words and pages. The biggest problem was that much of the information was conflicting. Medicine and wound care had vastly improved after the many lessons learned during the War Between the States, but even so, a minor bullet wound could very easily lead to infection, gangrene and death.

He decided his best bet was to focus his attention on the newest sources of information, figuring that the latest methods of treating wounds were probably the best. For starters, he needed to see how deep the bullet had gone into the boy's body. A one-shot Derringer like the one Hollander had used fired a shot that moved so slow, it could literally be seen in flight. The tiny pistol was really only useful at close range as a surprise weapon… which was exactly how Hollander had used it. Joshua gingerly removed the cloth compress with his fingertips and leaned over Will, staring down at the wound. He put his hands on the boy's chest, wincing at how cold his flesh was to the touch, and stretched the skin around the small ragged hole wider in an attempt to see deeper into his body.

That clearly hurt, because Will arched his back upward and bucked, grunting with pain, though he never opened his eyes. "Hold him still," Joshua ordered, and Alice moved to the opposite side of the bed to press down on the point of Will's shoulder. Mark followed his mother's example, but remained on Joshua's side of the bed, putting all of his weight on his brother's shoulder.

"Can you see the bullet?" Alice asked breathlessly, her face only a few inches away from his as they all hovered over Will's body.

He squinted, daring to spread the wound slightly wider, which made Will groan in agony as the blood welled up to flow freely out of the hole and down his chest and he decided against further examination for now. He straightened and shook his head. "I can't see quite it."

Alice's eyes welled up with tears at his words, "It's that deep?"

"No, I'm sure it's not gone very deep at all," Joshua said reassuringly and hoped he was telling the truth. "The hole's just filled up with blood. And there's not enough light in here for me to be able to see clearly. I'll definitely need more light, especially with it getting dark outside shortly." He considered his options and asked, "Mark, is there a tool box around here? I'm going to need a set of pliers to get the bullet out."

"Pliers?" Mark repeated, thinking for a moment. "Yeah, we got the ones in Pa's toolbox, out in the barn. I can go get 'em."

He ducked out from under his mother's arm and was nearly to the door when Joshua added, "Make sure you get the ones with the sharpest, longest point possible, they've got to be able to fit in the bullet hole, or they'll just be makin' it bigger and worse."

"Gotcha," the boy said and left the room at a near run.

"Alice," Joshua shifted his attention to the woman who was standing at his side, gazing at him expectantly as she awaited instructions. "I need you to fill up the two biggest pots you have with water and get them boiling. Then, we need to tear these into smaller pieces," he said, picking up the pile of linens she'd brought into the room in his arms, "and put them in the boiling water to get them good and clean."

Alice frowned up at him, looking almost insulted. "They _are_ good and clean. They haven't been used since the last time I washed them a week ago Monday."

Joshua shook his head impatiently at her response. "You asked me to tend to Will. You're trusting me to do the best I can to make him better, just based on what I've read, having no other clear knowledge or experience as to what the Hell I'm doin'… Well I'm willing to help him, but it means that I'm gonna be asking you to do things that may not make sense or that don't seem like they need doin', when to me, they do. And I need you to help me, by doing what I ask, no matter how odd it sounds. Can you do that?" he challenged, staring into her worried eyes.

She seemed far more torn by that question than she had been in asking him to doctor Will up in the first place, but she agreed finally, "Yes. Yes, I can do that."

He nodded approvingly and followed her out to the sitting room and set the rags down on the table. While she put logs on the fire, he hauled in buckets of water from the well to fill up the kettle and pot she'd provided. Once the water had started heating up, he worked to tear up the cloth into strips of fabric, adding them to the larger kettle and using a soup ladle to stir the fabric around in the water, while she went back to the bedroom to sit with Will, changing out his compress as needed.

Mark returned with not one, but two pairs of pliers. Both had narrow tips, but the smaller of the two sets expanded widely as it got closer to the hand grip. The second pair of pliers had slightly broader jaws, but over all it was a longer and narrower tool. "I wasn't sure which ones you'd want more," he admitted, offering them to Joshua.

He examined both sets of pliers before tossing both into the water boiling in the smaller of the two pots. After a moment's thought, he grabbed up a knife and added it to the water as well. As he turned away from the stove, he noticed that both Mark and Alice, who had just walked out of her bedroom, were staring at him wide-eyed and confused.

"Why are you boiling the pliers?" Mark asked, though Alice appeared to have been on the verge of asking the same question.

Joshua used a pot holder to protect his hand as he used a long spoon to stir the pliers in the water as he explained, "Because we want anything that touches Will's wound to be as clean as we can get it. Boiling this stuff in the water will kill the germs on it."

"But I told you," Alice reminded him with a frown, "I already washed those linens. They were clean."

Mark was puzzled by different aspect of his explanation. "What's a germ?"

"Germs are microbes," Joshua answered, glancing at them. Neither of the Evans looked any further enlightened by his words, so he put it in simpler terms, "Germs are the reasons why people get sick. It's kind of like living dirt that we can't see, is the easiest way to put it."

"'Living dirt we can't see?" Alice repeated incredulously. "How can dirt be alive?"

Joshua sighed, "All right, that was a lousy way of putting it... let's just stick with the idea that the pliers have been in the barn with cow and horse shit," he stated bluntly. "They're dirty, and I didn't want to be using them to pull a slug out of Will's body without cleaning them real good first. The best and easiest way to do that is by boiling them."

She seemed somewhat mollified by his response, but still wondered, "What about the linens? How could they be dirty too, when I haven't used them for anything?"

He spared her a quick glance before turning his attention back to stirring the kettle of boiling water, "Ever found any bugs in the linen chest? A scorpion or anything like that?"

Alice's eyebrows drew together in a thoughtful frown. "Yes… she said slowly.

"You reckon they wash their feet before walking all over your linens?" Joshua dryly inquired.

Mark snickered at that question, while his mother inclined her head, acknowledging that he'd made his point. "How long are we going to boil it for?"

"These have boiled long enough," Joshua stated, again wrapping his hands with the thick potholders before taking the both pots off the fire and setting them on the floor. "We'll let them cool for a bit while we move some more lanterns into the bedroom, so I can see what I'm doing. Mark, can you see to that? Two or three lanterns should be enough light, I think."

The boy quickly nodded, "Yessir," and went to collect the lamp from the front porch and from the room he shared with Will.

"There's a couple more things I need, and then I think I'll be about as ready as I can get," Joshua told Alice and allowed the barest hint of a smile to touch his lips, "Well, as ready as I can be without going to some fancy school and learnin' how to be a doctor."

"Of course, anything you need, if we've got it, you are welcome to it." Alice asked uncertainly, and he could tell she had no idea what else he would need at this point.

"I need some bran… like what you use when you bake bread and such. We'll wrap it in cloth and use it as a poultice, to draw some of the blood out of Will's wound. And…" Joshua actually smiled as he met Alice's green eyes with his own, knowing his final request was unlikely to go over well, "I need some whiskey."

To her credit, she didn't say a word in complaint or protest, though her eyes widened at the request. After studying his face for a moment as though trying to gauge whether or not he was serious, she walked over to the cupboard, opening the topmost door and reaching into the back. The whiskey bottle she withdrew was dusty and clearly had not been touched in years.

"Thank you, ma'am," Joshua said easily as she handed it to him. He pushed the metal latch that held the top on, opening the bottle to and waving under his nose, inhaling deeply. "Oh that's real nice… not watered down at all, is it?"

Alice responded warily, "It's good whiskey, yes."

"I got the lanterns all set up in the room, hangin' from nails and the like," Mark announced from the bedroom doorway, his face drawn and worried. "Are you gonna take the bullet out soon? Will don't look too good. He's shiverin' real bad."

Joshua sighed in resignation and closed his eyes, but he knew there was nothing more he could do to prepare himself for the monumental task he was about to undertake. "All right, let's do this."

A few minutes later, they were all in the room and Joshua was giving them final instructions as he washed his hands in lye soap and water. "Mark, I need you to take that whiskey bottle, and unstopper it, and pour it over my hands. Now after you do that, I can't be touching anything else but the pliers, the cloth bandages and Will, so everything stays clean. And I'll need both of you to hold Will as still as you can hold him, because what I'm gonna to do to him is gonna hurt like hell and the more he moves, the more it's gonna end up hurting him in the long run. Do you both understand?"

They nodded and Joshua held out his damp hands, ordering, "Pour it slow, so I can make sure it gets all over my hands."

Mark opened the whiskey bottle and barely breathed as he poured the pungent amber liquid over the man's hands, watching as he rubbed the whiskey all over his fingers and palms.

"I can't boil my hands, but the alcohol works just as well," Joshua explained, rubbing his hands together one last time. Then he squatted and dipped his hand into the kettle with a wince, for the water was still painfully hot. He withdrew the largest piece of fabric he could find and wrung it out. "Pour some whiskey on this," he told Mark, and the boy quickly complied, soaking the rag with the grain alcohol.

"Hold him," he ordered and as they restrained Will, Joshua used the cloth to wipe all around and over his wound. The boy writhed in pain, but for now at least, it didn't matter much if he moved. He retrieved another large rag and squeezed the water out of that as well before folding it once and stretching it flat between his two hands. "Alice, put a handful of the bran on here, please."

She quickly obliged, glancing up at his rugged face as she let the grain filter through her fingers, but he was focused on the task at hand.

"That's good," he stated when he figured she'd put enough on there, folding the fabric over the bran before he pressed it to Will's wound. They waited in silence for a few moments before Joshua moved the poultice aside. This time, between the additional light and the absorbent capabilities of the poultice, he could see the mottled dark round shape of the bullet, down a couple of inches in the boy's flesh. "I can see it," he announced.

Alice's sigh of relief was audible.

Joshua drew away from Will long enough to pull the larger but narrower pair of pliers out of the hot water. "Let's pour a bit of whiskey on these too, just to be on the safe side."

"Yessir," Mark said, moving away from Will's shoulder and picking up the whiskey bottle again. "You gonna get the bullet out now?" he inquired, peeking up at the tall man while he poured a bit of alcohol over the hand tool.

"I'm gonna do my damndest," Joshua stated firmly, meeting the boy's dark green eyes for a moment before turning back toward his 'patient'. "Ok, you've got to hold him real still for this," he informed them. "I'll try to make it fast."

With that, Joshua splayed his left hand out over Will's ribs and bent over his body, holding the pliers at the ready with his right. There, he hesitated, not quite believing what it was he was about to do. A nervous sweat broke out over his skin and he was terrified in a way he'd never before experienced, not even when he was staring down another man in a gunfight.

"You can do this, Joshua," Alice quietly said, and when he looked into her green eyes, he could tell that she believed it, believed in _him._

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, giving a quick nod of acceptance. "Hold him," he warned and then plunged the pliers into the bullet hole.

Will immediately screamed, writhing in pain and bucking enough that despite his best attempts, Joshua was unable to grasp the bullet, though he could feel the tips of the pliers touching the metal. "I can't quite get it," he ground out through clenched teeth. "He's squirming too much."

Alice was laying across Will's shoulder to hold him still, and ordered, "Mark, climb up on the bed and push his shoulder down with all your weight on your hands… hold his arm under your legs."

The boy quickly obeyed, and when they had repositioned themselves, Joshua dug the pliers into Will's chest again. This time he was more prepared for the movement and half laying across the boy's torso. He opened the pliers a hair more and gave them a slight twist, feeling the sudden tension between the gripping teeth as they clamped down on the bullet. Swiftly withdrawing the slug, he rocked back on his heels and announced with an unimaginable sense of relief, "Got it." He dropped the pliers and bullet into the bucket before retrieving some more clean rags and squeezing the water out of them. They were then pressed to Will's injury, from which bright red blood now flowed anew.

Alice's eyes were shining with tears as she murmured soothingly at Will, brushing his sweaty hair away from his forehead. "It's all right… you're going to be all right now." Though his chest still heaved in reaction and his face was still twisted with pain, her quiet words seemed to calm him. A few moments later, he was resting more easily, and his face relaxed in slumber.

Mark jumped off of the bed to give Joshua a tight hug, catching the man off guard. "I knew you could do it!" he exclaimed, grinning up at him.

Joshua couldn't help but smile at the boy's reaction, but he cautioned, "Will ain't out of the woods yet. Getting the bullet out was important, but these next couple of days will be touch and go. His wound needs to stay clean and we'll keep dressing it with clean bandages like these. Put those bran poultices on him every few hours. And he needs to drink lots of water… some willow bark tea, if you've got it handy, Alice. That'd help with the pain and fever."

She immediately nodded and got to her feet, wiping tears away from her cheeks. "I'll start brewing some straight away." Her voice quavered and she took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The pot with the pliers and the bullet that had nearly taken her son's life were still in the room with them and she wanted it gone, as quickly as possible. "Mark, would you take this on outside and empty it?"

"Sure, Ma," Mark nodded obediently, giving Joshua another quick hug before he hefted the pot up with a grunt and awkwardly maneuvered it toward the door.

Bemused, Joshua watched the boy lurch off and suddenly realized that he was physically exhausted. The back of his head where Atkins had hit him with a shovel had started throbbing in pain as the day's stresses caught up with him all at once. He sank down into the chair by the bed, closing his eyes and resting his elbows on his knees with his body hunched over in fatigue, face directed at the floor.

He sensed, rather than saw, Alice make her way around the bed and come up beside him, but honestly he just didn't have the energy to look up at her, or even acknowledge her presence.

"Thank you," she whispered after a moment. Then she placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, that simple gesture conveying the extent of her gratitude in ways that her words could not.

The memory of her touch burned through his shirt clear to his skin for a long time after she left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIVIA'S BACK!  
> Vanilla is actually native to Mexico, which is about 10 miles away from Bisbee, Arizona. While Alice's use of vanilla soap might have seemed like an anachronism, in reality, she would have had access to vanilla beans by virtue of being so close to Mexico, and thus the means by which to create her own vanilla soap. It likely would have been the only luxury a woman like her would have.  
> Robert Koch was the first scientist to postulate the germ theory of disease and publish articles on the subject in and around 1875, though Louis Pasteur certainly played a huge role by proving that microorganisms did not spontaneously appear back in the 1860s. At the time, the miasma theory of disease (also known as bad airs) was the common belief. However, a definite link was made between washing hands and reduced mortality due to infection during this time period, though it was slow to catch on.  
> Many doctors in this era were little more than quacks and 'snake oil peddlers', selling bottles of miracle cures that were little more than flavored alcohol and other more dangerous substances. President James Garfield himself was subject to foolish doctors after being shot by an assassin. They continually poked and prodded him with dirty fingers and rudimentary tools in attempts to locate the bullet (one reportedly suggest they just roll him over and the bullet would fall out on its own), until he eventually died of infection… and this was the kind of care provided for the most important man in the United States!  
> Derringers were a pocket pistol created in the 1800s. They were for the most part, one-shot pistols, though Remington made a 2-shot Derringer pistol that sold after the Civil War. Their accuracy was only good for about 10 feet, the bullet was literally so slow you could see it flying in mid-air towards its target, but as it was almost always used in close quarters, it must have served well enough to get the job done, given its popularity. A Derringer was used by John Wilkes Booth to assassinate Abraham Lincoln.  
> Due to the large amount of ethanol in them, grain alcohols like whiskey and vodka really are good antiseptics, though I bet they hurt like hell when poured over open cuts and wounds. And bran is excellent for use in poultices, as it draws excess moisture out of wounds, decreasing the chances of abscesses forming.


	9. Fortitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice, Mark and Joshua hope and pray that Will survives his surgery.

Alice started the tea kettle over the fire for the willow bark tea and abruptly realized that it was dark outside and well past the time they normally ate supper. So much had happened during the last couple of hours that it felt like it should be even later than it already was. Despite the fact that she had no appetite, her stomach still growled with hunger. It was unlikely that Mark would want to miss a meal, given the fact that the boy was growing like a weed, and Joshua might be hungry as well.

She walked toward the door, pausing to look in her bedroom where Will lay unconscious. The boy's face was nearly as pale as the sheets he slept between, but she could still see his chest moving up and down as he breathed. At some point after she had left the room, Joshua had exchanged the boy's loose wound dressing for a bran poultice. The chair had also been moved closer to the head of the bed, right in front of the window.

Joshua was sitting with his elbow propped up on the low sill, his chin resting against his knuckles as he watched Will sleep. His expression was inscrutable. For a moment she debated saying something, but decided that at this point, there was nothing she could say that hadn't already been said.

When she continued on outside, Alice could see Mark walking toward the house and carrying the empty pot. Will and Joshua's horses were no where to be seen, so the boy must have put them in the barn at some point. She went around back to the root cellar and selected a jar of preserved turnips leftover from the previous winter, butter, a round of cheese and some dried beef from the shelves. Combined with the remaining bread in the breadbox, it would make an adequate, if simple, meal.

Mark was leaving the house when she returned, hauling the pot of cloth strips. "He said I can go ahead and hang these up on the wash line," he explained at her inquisitive look. "They'll be good and dry by the time mornin' comes."

Alice nodded at his explanation, climbing up the single step porch. "I'll have some supper ready shortly," she informed him as she passed and went back into the house. The small tub she'd taken a bath in was still in front of the fireplace and when she walked by, she glanced down into it. Will's bloodied clothing was soaking in the soap-clouded water and she had to forcibly direct her thoughts away from dwelling on what had led her to take a midday bath in the first place. Keeping herself busy with caring for Will's wound had helped with that, but that immediate crisis was past. Now all she could do now was watch and wait, and so her mind had more time to wander down that harrowing path.

She focused on the routine task of preparing supper. After emptying the jar of turnips into a small pot, she set them on the stove to heat up and then finished brewing Will's tea. While the bitter drink cooled, she prepared the rest of the meal, putting bread, meat and cheese onto plates and setting them down on the table. The vegetables were still not quite hot enough to serve but Mark and Joshua would both need time to wash up for supper anyway.

A slight frown touched Alice's lips at that thought and after a moments hesitation she walked into her bedroom. Joshua did not appear to have moved from his position by the windowsill since she had last checked in the room. He shifted his gaze from Will's still form to her, watching as she bent to open the bottom most drawer of her dresser and withdrew a man's plain white shirt.

Alice turned to face Joshua, gesturing at the bloodstained shirt he was still wearing from when he had carried Will inside. "I thought you might want to clean up before supper," she said quietly, and her smile was bittersweet as she added, "Dan's clothes are still too big for Will, but they should fit you just fine."

Joshua stared at the offered piece of clothing for a long moment before rising to his feet to accept it. "Thank you," he said and began to take off his dirty shirt, turning slightly away from her as he did.

Initially, she had planned on waiting to take his stained shirt so that she could add it to the tub with Will's clothes and let it soak, but as he shrugged one shoulder free of the fabric, Alice abruptly realized that it might appear as though she were staring. Flustered, she averted her eyes, murmuring, "Excuse me," and left the room, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

She headed outside to call Mark to the table, but he was already on his way back with the empty pot. "I got them all hung up, but I ran out of clothespins," he admitted. "I don't think the really long ones will blow off the line before they're all dry, there's hardly any wind now that the storm's passed. Is supper done yet?"

Alice nodded, giving her youngest son a quick smile. "Yes, so go wash up and come to the table." She followed him back inside and Joshua was just emerging from the bedroom with his soiled shirt rolled up in his hand.

"Is he doin' any better?" Mark immediately asked Joshua, his face hopeful.

"Not yet," Joshua told the boy with a shake of his head and then glanced up at Alice. "He'll be needing that tea soon to help with the fever and pain."

She immediately nodded. "It's cooling now…do you think he'll be all right in here by himself while we eat?" Alice wondered, worriedly peering past Joshua to Will. "I can eat in there with him…"

He thought about her question for a moment before answering, "He should be fine, I think. He's lost a lot of blood, and that tends to make a body feel really tired and weak, so for now, the best thing for him is rest, so his body has a chance to heal. We'll be right here in the other room, right?"

Inclining her head in agreement, Alice admitted, "That's true." She glanced down at the shirt he had in his hands and said, "Here, let me take that… I'll let it soak overnight, but I'm not sure if those blood stains will ever come out."

"It's alright, it's just a shirt," Joshua said dismissively. "Shirts are easy enough to replace."

Alice added his stained shirt to the bath tub anyway, but his words struck her oddly. For her family, clothes were hard to come by. Mark was still wearing Will's old clothing, complete with seams from repeated mending and hemming. The only reason Will still had clothes that fit was that she had used some of Butterfield's money to buy bolts of cotton to make her oldest son enough shirts and pants to last him for a couple more years. With any luck, they would last him until he had enough height and reach to wear Dan's old clothing.

And now she herself was short one dress… Glen Hollander's unwelcome visage suddenly popped into her mind's eye and she could almost feel his hands groping her body and pushing her dress aside and the gloating, possessive look in his eyes as he…

"Ma, you ok?" Mark's voice brought her back into the now and she had to physically take hold of the back of a kitchen chair to remain upright, closing her eyes to the sense of vertigo that nearly overwhelmed her.

"I'm fine," she managed to say, her voice sounding strange and uneven to her own ears. She opened her eyes to find both Joshua and Mark looking at her. "Really, I'm fine." She drew up straighter and released her death grip on the chair, mustering a reassuring smile for Mark's sake. "It's just been a very long day and I'm a little tired." Her eyes briefly met Joshua's worried gaze over the top of the boy's head before skittering away.

Mark regarded her dubiously before slipping past her to the pitcher and wash basin in the server. He poured some water into the large bowl, quickly washed his hands and dried them on the towel there, then sat down in his usual chair at the table. Joshua followed the boy's lead while Alice busied herself with serving up the rest of supper, adding the steaming turnip chunks to the food already on the plates.

A few moments later they were all seated at the table. Alice lowered her head to say the ritual prayer the Evans family always said before meals. "God our Father, Lord and Savior, thank you for your love and favor. Please bless this drink and food we pray, bless all who shares with us today." Her head remained bowed as she finished speaking without saying, 'Amen', because the simple words seemed woefully inadequate given all that had happened. Outside of the fact that they had food on their plates, was there really a lot to be thankful today?

There was a second of silence and then Mark added to the brief prayer, "And thank you for sending the rain, and for sendin' Joshua too, to help Will when he got hurt." He peeked at his mother, gauging her reaction to his addition.

Joshua seemed troubled by his words, and stared at Mark from over his clasped hands.

Alice gave her son a slight nod of acknowledgement, as those were two things that they were definitely thankful for. "Amen," she said, picking up her fork. She still had no appetite and even the lightly salted beef seemed unusually tasteless to her, but she made herself eat. There was no sense in her making herself sick by skipping meals when there was plenty to eat.

Mark immediately dug into his food with his usual enthusiasm. Joshua began eating a few seconds later, though with far less exuberance and his usual lack of table manners.

Alice watched as the man hunkered down over his dinner plate, elbows outstretched and using his fingers to pick through his food. If he would be continuing to eat meals with them, she'd have to have a talk with him about… She drew up short of completing that thought. Despite the fact that Joshua had been willing (though reluctant) to remove the bullet from Will, there was no telling how long he would be in the Bisbee area, or even if he would be staying at all. Dismay filled her at the thought of him leaving before Will got better. What if something went wrong and his wound got infected?

She peered at Joshua from beneath lowered eyelashes. From what she had seen, he seemed to genuinely care about her son's well being and while the man was an enigma, she was reasonably sure that he'd stay until Will was well on the road to recovery from his injury. Alice comforted herself with that thought and resumed her meal.

They all focused on eating for time, each of them sparing occasional glances at the empty chair Will would have been occupying under normal circumstances.

Out of the blue, Mark suddenly asked Joshua, "Where's your saddle?"

Alice blinked at the question and gave her son an odd look. "What do you mean, 'where's his saddle?'. Didn't you put his horse in the barn? What'd you do with the saddle when you took his tack off?"

Shaking his head, Mark replied, "No, 'cause Dawson didn't have a saddle on him. Just the bridle, is all. So I was wondering where his saddle was."

Joshua had straightened in his chair at the question and seemed to be considering an appropriate answer. His gaze flicked from Alice to her son as he finally responded, "I was in a hurry to get here when I left the Bar-H and didn't know if I could spare the time to saddle him up. So I just left it and rode bareback."

They both stared at him in disbelief. A saddle was nearly as valuable as a good horse, and it was almost unthinkable that someone would be in such a hurry that they'd leave it behind.

He must have known that Hollander was coming to pay her a visit and had been trying his best to get there in time to protect her from the landowner's attack, Alice realized.

Mark had reached the same conclusion and his face was pinched with anger as he spoke. "You knew what he was gonna do to Ma? That he was comin' here to beat her up?"

_If only that'd been the extent of what he did to me_ , Alice thought, lowering her eyes to her plate. Her bruised cheek suddenly felt hot and swollen, stinging pain returned to her neck where she'd been choked, and the throbbing soreness at the juncture of her thighs… She nearly vomited again, right then and there at the table, and had to cover her mouth with her hand, swallowing repeatedly to regain control of her stomach. She could sense Joshua's concern for her coming from the opposite end of the table and as the nausea subsided, she looked up to meet his gaze.

His eyes were filled with that helpless frustration and rage she'd seen in them earlier that evening when they'd been tending to Will, but somehow, he managed to keep his tone carefully neutral when he responded to Mark's question, "Yeah, I knew he was comin' here. Atkins told me." A bitter smile twisted his lips and he added, "Right before he hit me in the back of the head with a shovel and knocked me out."

"You got knocked out with a shovel?" Mark asked, his eyebrows arched with surprise.

Alice had been on the verge of forcing herself to eat another turnip but lowered her fork in consternation at that pronouncement. "I thought you said you weren't hurt when I asked you earlier," she said accusingly.

Joshua shrugged and popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. He chewed slowly and talked around the morsel, "I said I was fine, and I _am_ fine, least ways compared to others around here who didn't get off so lucky as I did." He pointedly shifted his attention from her bruised face to Will's empty chair. "And I'm not hurt," he stated firmly. He lifted his hand and gingerly probed the area on the back of his head where he must have been hit, wincing. "It quit bleeding hours ago. You know, now that I think about it, I don't think Atkins told me Hollander would be coming here until after I woke up a few hours later locked in the grain room. Things got kinda fuzzy there for a while."

Barely stifling an exasperated sigh at the hard-headed nature of men (quite literally, this time), Alice rose from her chair and walked around behind Joshua. "Let me see it," she demanded and bemused, he obliged, tilting his head forward to grant her a better view. _Great idea, once again you're focusing on someone else's injuries so that you can ignore your own,_ a nagging voice in her mind commented snidely. She suppressed that annoyingly accurate thought and gently rested her hand on his head.

His hair was thick and surprisingly soft—for some reason she had expected it to feel coarse to the touch. She combed her fingers through it lightly in search of his injury. A goose-egg sized knot indicated the general area of the shovel's impact and as she parted his short hair, she could see the darker clump of a jagged scab standing out against the paleness of his scalp. "It stopped bleeding," Alice noted critically. "There's a fair sized gash, but there's not really any blood here."

Joshua started to shake his head, but stopped as she was still inspecting his wound. "No," he replied. "I imagine most of the blood was washed off when it started pouring down rain on the way here."

"Wait, so first, Atkins hit you in the head with a shovel," Mark said, his brow furrowed as he worked out the order in which things had happened, "and then he locked you into a grain room while you was still out of it? Then you woke up, and he told you that Hollander was comin' here to get Ma… So how'd you get out?"

"I slammed my shoulder against the door until it opened, and when it did, it hit Atkins and…." He shrugged as though that had ended it, and ducked his head away from Alice's hands so that her brief inspection ended. "Like I said, I'm fine," he said tersely.

She had tried to be gentle, but from his reaction, she figured she'd pressed down on the lump on his head harder than she'd thought. Alice took his none-too-subtle hint and returned to her chair. When she picked up her fork to return to eating, she glanced at the set of his face and tightened jaw, abruptly realizing that he wasn't in pain. He was angry, though she had no idea why he would be.

They ate in silence for a few moments and the irritated expression gradually faded from Joshua's face. He kept his eyes on his plate and seemed utterly focused on finishing his meal.

Mark tore off a hunk of dried beef and stuffed into his mouth, looking thoughtful. Eventually, he got around to asking, "So… what happened to Atkins? Did you kill him?"

Joshua had just taken a bite of bread, but even so she noticed his slight hesitation before he answered, "No, I didn't kill him. Atkins was still alive when I left the ranch." When both Evans regarded him with equally skeptical looks, he held up one hand and firmly said, "I swear he was alive when I last saw him. He was unconscious yes, but alive. I didn't even shoot him… mostly because I didn't have my gun on me," he admitted with dark amusement.

Eyeing him from the opposite end of the table, Alice strongly suspected that his pause indicated there was some important detail that had been left out of the story, but either way the end result was the same. Joshua, for one reason or another, had chosen to let Atkins live.

"Did you kill Mr. Hollander?" Mark suddenly asked, looking intently at Joshua as he waited for the answer.

The question hung in the air like a dust cloud on a hot July day. When Joshua finally answered, he didn't look at Mark, but at Alice. "Yes. I killed him," he declared, his face grim and unrepentant.

Even though she had suspected it, had even _wanted_ Glen Hollander dead from the moment he put his filthy hands on her, the exultation, the satisfaction she felt knowing that Joshua had killed him for what he had done to her was shockingly intense. But along with that acute jubilation, there was also a deeper, darker awareness that the landowner's death could not erase the memory of his attack on her, though it did ensure that he would never touch her again.

Her face felt stiff and frozen, and it was as though the taste of the food had turned to ashes in her mouth. Alice knew that if she ate another bite, this time she really would throw up. She rose to her feet, evading both Mark and Joshua's eyes and quietly announced in a strained tone, "I think that willow tea's cooled off quite long enough."

She didn't even bother to remove her plate, just picked up the cup of tea with hands that trembled with pent up emotion. Alice fled to Will's room, and when she got there, she closed the door behind her and set the teacup down on the dresser before she dropped it. Then she leaned back against the door, her eyes closed but streaming tears, her throat tight with pain, and her hands pressed firmly over her mouth to hold back a tumult of emotions that alternated with equal intensity between delighted hysterical laughter and wracking sobs.

Joshua sighed internally as he and Mark watched Alice hurry into the bedroom and close the door behind her. He couldn't hear anything coming from the other side of the wood and the silence was more unnerving than the sound of her crying would have been.

"Is she ok?" Mark asked worriedly, his eyes on the closed door.

He turned to look at the boy and not for the first time that day, thanked God for having enough mercy to spare Alice's youngest son from knowing the full extent of just what she'd been through. _Was I ever this naïve and innocent?_ he wondered, then realized while he may have been at one time, whatever innocence he possessed had been lost back when he was in that train station, eight years old, hungry, and alone with nothing but a carriage bag with one change of clothes, the heavy black Bible he'd just finished reading, and a burgeoning knowledge that Mama would not be coming back.

Mustering a reassuring smile from somewhere, Joshua replied, "She will be, I'm sure." At least he hoped she would, some women never really got past being raped from what he'd heard.

"I thought she'd be glad he was dead, but she's acting…" The boy paused, trying to think of the right words for her behavior and finally shrugged. "I don't know… she seemed happy and upset all at once, but I don't know why she'd be upset." He fidgeted in his chair and his voice was low and fierce as he muttered, "I'm glad he's dead, 'cause it means he can't ever hurt her again, or have our water dammed up or have his men burn down our barn again or anything else."

Pushing a turnip around his plate with his fork, Joshua considered a response that would make sense, given Mark's limited knowledge of his mother's attack. "I think she's glad, but… even though Glen Hollander is dead, it still don't make any difference on what he's already done to you and your family, or what he did to her to her earlier today. You haven't forgotten how you felt when Tucker burned down your barn, have you?"

Mark shook his head vigorously. "I ain't never gonna forget that," he stated firmly.

Joshua nodded. "It's the same way with your Ma. Hollander's dead, but she's still got the bruises on her neck and her face, and she probably ain't gonna forget the fear or pain from him attacking her for a while yet, even after the bruises fade," he explained bleakly. "Some hurts ain't just on the outside, where you can see them and fix them up like a doctor bandaging a wound, but on the inside, and those can take a long time to heal."

Mark was listening attentively, and his nod was sad as he observed, "Kinda like having a broken heart? A heart can't really be broken, can it? But I know when Pa died, my heart hurt." He lifted a hand to rub his chest, "It hurt right here… It still does, sometimes, when I think about him." A guilty expression crossed his face and he admitted, "I sometimes almost can't remember what he looked like. That picture you drew helps, though."

Exhaling slowly at the boy's words, Joshua turned his face away as he was stricken by his own resurgent guilt over his involvement in Dan Evans' death.

"Will told us it wasn't your fault, what happened to Pa," Mark informed him.

"If it wasn't mine, then whose fault was it?" he demanded harshly. "It was my gang that killed him."

"Did you shoot him?"

Joshua scowled at Mark, "No, but that don't matter. Hollander didn't burn your barn down, Tucker did… but he's still the one to blame for it, ain't he?"

The boy immediately nodded, pointing out, "That was different though, 'cause Hollander was the one who told Tucker to burn down our barn in the first place." He regarded Joshua solemnly, "Did you tell your men to shoot my Pa? Will said you yelled for Charlie Prince to stop, right 'fore he pulled the trigger."

Exasperated, he straightened in his chair, "Alright then, no, I didn't tell my gang to kill him, but…"

"Will also said you saved them from those Apaches, and then again with the dynamite when you was tryin' to get away from that mining boss who was torturing you…"

"I wasn't saving anyone but myself those times, and if I'd had a gun I would have killed Will and Dan just as easy as I killed Byron McElroy," Joshua declared ruthlessly.

"Oh yeah?" Mark raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair to regard him with utter skepticism. "If that's true, then how come you didn't kill anyone when you had Pa's shotgun and all the other guns, right after you killed the Indians, and Pa threw the key away instead of unlocking your irons?"

The question drew Joshua up short, and he had no ready answer. Why hadn't he killed them all then? Certainly he had the opportunity and guns enough to do it. After a moment, he defensively stated, "Well, I didn't kill any of them then, but I did hit your Pa in the face with the butt of the shotgun and knocked him out cold…"

"But you didn't kill him," Mark doggedly reminded him. "And you could have."

"I… Fine," Joshua conceded that point. "Okay, yes, I could have killed him then, and I didn't. So what?"

Mark lifted his small chin challengingly, "And how many other times could you have killed him and you didn't?"

He refused to answer that question, because in truth, there had been numerous opportunities he could have taken and didn't, especially during that harrying run from the hotel to the train station, when his gang and the greedy townsfolk of Contention had been taking shots at them. Joshua glared at the boy before muttering, "You're as stubborn as your Pa was. None of that stuff matters anyhow. The point I'm trying to make is, if it weren't for me, he'd still be alive. Hell, if I hadn't even come to Bisbee, I'd never have been caught and he wouldn't have agreed to take that damn escort job in the first place."

"If he hadn't taken that job, we wouldn't have had the money to keep on living here on our ranch, and woulda had to move. If he hadn't said yes, I might've already died from tuberculosis from having to move back to the city," Mark said sadly, grimacing. "If Hollander had never burned down our barn and dammed up our creek, he wouldn't have taken the offer to escort you. That's a whole lotta 'ifs'."

Joshua couldn't argue with that. "Yeah, it is a lot of 'what ifs'."

"You can't live your life based on 'what ifs'," Mark informed him with all the wisdom of his twelve years. "That's what Ma told us, after Pa died. She'd say, 'Life must be lived forward, but it can only be understood backwards.' That means that it's always easier to think back to what you shoulda done, than it is to know what you oughta do right then and there when you got to choose one way or the other."

The obscure philosophical statement caught Joshua off guard, and he stared at Mark in disbelief.

"My father taught philosophy at Harvard College and that was one of his favorite quotations," Alice quietly explained from the bedroom's doorway. She was holding the teacup in her hand, and Joshua realized he'd been so intent on his conversation with Mark that he had no idea how long she'd been standing there, or how much of their conversation she'd overheard.

"Is he getting better?" Mark asked.

"I hope so honey," Alice replied with a slight smile for her son as she walked into the kitchen and set the empty cup down on the table. A hint of worry tinged her tone as she spoke, "I think a fever is setting in, but I did get him to drink all of the tea, so hopefully it won't get too high. He never really woke up, but he could still swallow it in little sips."

"That's good," Joshua said and then suggested, "If he can drink that and keep it down tonight, you might try giving him some broth tomorrow."

She nodded agreeably and looked at Mark, who was scraping up the last bite of turnip from his plate. "If you're finished eating, you've got plenty of chores you need to get done before bed," she gently reminded him.

Mark had an expression of acute dismay on his face. "I have to do the chores? All of them? By myself?"

With everything else that had happened and been said, Joshua had not even considered the effect Will's injury would have on keeping the small Evans ranch running smoothly. There was no way that Mark could tend to all the normal duties and chores he typically shared with his brother all by himself.

"I know there's some you won't be able to do by yourself, so just do the best you can, all right?" she said encouragingly.

Nodding glumly, Mark rose to his feet and headed toward the door while Joshua hurriedly shoveled the last few bites of food into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed noisily, washing the last bit down with the cup of water before rising to his feet, intent on going to the barn as well to help the boy out.

"Mr. Mason? Might I have a word with you?" Alice quickly said before he had taken more than a couple of steps away from the table.

"Are we back to formal names already?" Joshua asked with dry sarcasm and turned to face her. The hint of alarm in her eyes made him regret his tone. After everything she'd been through that day, it was a wonder she hadn't collapsed by now. She'd been raped and beaten earlier that afternoon, yet had enough fortitude to carry in relative normalcy despite the inner turmoil he knew she had to be facing. She'd courageously helped with the tending of Will's injury without swooning or complaining, while providing loving support and encouragement for Mark, who had to be just as worried and scared as his mother was.

Then when she'd found out about how he'd been waylaid by Atkins' shovel, she'd been concerned enough to check the wound… And if she'd even had an inkling of how his body had inadvertently reacted when she'd been trying to locate where Atkins' shovel had walloped him on the back of the head, she'd be screaming and running from him, if she didn't faint dead away from pure terror first. He'd been completely unprepared for how utterly sensual the touch of her fingers combing through his short hair and gently caressing his scalp would be, and was still disgusted and angry with himself for that total lapse in self control. Hell, he was pretty damn sure if he stood there much longer thinking about how it'd felt, he'd find himself in a similar state, and this time there wouldn't be a table to hide his condition.

Joshua abruptly realized that Alice was staring at him wide-eyed and her trepidation seemed to increase with each passing moment. Shit, had she picked up on his lustful thoughts by reading his facial expression? He started to take a step back away from her, but when he moved, that panicky look on her face grew even more pronounced. "I'd never hurt you," he said roughly, for all the good he thought it'd do to reassure her.

She blinked at his words, "What?"

"I said, I'd never hurt you," he repeated. "You know, in case you were… afraid of me. If you were afraid I might hurt you the way that he did…I don't want you to be afraid of me like that, is all I'm saying. I may be a thief and a murderer, and I know I'm rotten as Hell, but I ain't no rapist." His words sounded absurd even to his own ears.

Her eyes were brimming with tears and she crossed her arms defensively across her chest, looking away from him for a long moment. Suddenly, an uneven chuckle escaped her, and she pursed her lips when she looked back up at him. "That's… very reassuring," she managed to say through a watery smile of genuine amusement. "I'm just glad that you're not a... a _lying_ thief. Then I guess I'd be in some serious danger, wouldn't I?"

Her unexpected humor at his ridiculous statement caught him off guard and reassured him with its simple normalcy at the same time. The fact that she could laugh at anything at all seemed nothing short of miraculous. Joshua found himself smiling along with her as he said with supercilious humor, "You certainly would. I'd have taken up lying too, but, well, I figure a man's got to have some standards."

Alice laughed again at his haughty tone. They both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before she suddenly asked, "Are you leaving?"

Joshua hesitated before worriedly returning, "Do you want me to leave?" That tinge of fear was in her eyes again and now he thought he understood why. Did she really think he'd just up and leave them, now, of all times?

"No, I don't want you to leave."

Her simply spoken words filled him with relief. "Then, no, I'm not leaving," he said bluntly.

She inclined her head and the barest smile touched her lips. "Good. As I was giving Will the tea, it occurred to me that given the events of the day, you were now out of a job. And with Will's injury, we find ourselves in need of an experienced ranch hand."

He studied her for a moment and considered an appropriate response for her offer—and that's what it was, an offer of employment. She was an extraordinarily courageous woman, but she was far too proud to let him work for free, even though he was pretty damn certain she knew he didn't need the money. "I could take on here as a steady hand, say for… ten dollars a month, plus room and board." The price he quoted was a fraction of what cowhands would usually work for, but he thought it was worth a try.

Alice eyed him suspiciously, "We may not have ever hired on any hands here, but ten dollars for a month of hard work seems awfully cheap. I want to pay whatever the going rate for cowhands is."

Her words indicated to Joshua that she wasn't really sure what a typical cowhand made in a month's time. That suited him just fine, as it meant that he could let her barter the wages upwards so she'd feel like she was paying him fairly, and he'd still end up being paid far less than the going rate. "I figured since there isn't room enough here in the house, I'll be sleeping in the barn. Since it isn't a bed in a bunkhouse, wages lower than the going rate seemed fair to me."

"Yes, but you'll still be getting three square meals a day, and you'll need to help with doctoring Will until he's all better," she pointedly reminded him. "How about twenty-five dollars?"

Her new offer was on the low end of fair wages for the labor, but Joshua immediately shook his head. "That's way too much," he lied easily. All right, so maybe sometimes, he really was a lying thief. "Fifteen."

She scowled at him, stating firmly, "Joshua, I don't want any charity, not from you or anyone else. Twenty dollars. That's my final offer, and I refuse to lower the price any more."

Joshua thoughtfully considered her offer. The pay was dirt cheap, and more than he had wanted her to pay, but from the determined expression on her face, he seriously doubted he'd be able to talk her down any lower. "All right, twenty dollars a month. So you can pay me that exactly one month from today." She opened her mouth to argue that point, but he shook his head, "That's how it's done. I get paid after I work the month, not before the work's done started. If a ranch owner paid up front, right after the hiring, the cowhands could pocket the money and go find someone else to work for, without ever doing a day's worth of work."

Alice frowned, as she had not considered that. She finally nodded and held out her hand looking up at him expectantly.

He stared down at her outstretched hand for a moment before he took a step toward her and gently clasped it with his own.

She gave his hand a firm shake to seal the deal, but when he went to tug it free of hers, she didn't release it straight away and held on. Alice tilted her head back to look up at him and softly said, "You know… what's happened to us, to our family… what Hollander did to Will, well, not just to Will, but to me…" her voice broke, but her gaze never wavered from his. "Don't be blaming yourself for what happened. It really wasn't your fault."

He gently countered, "Then don't you be blaming yourself for what happened. What he done to you… that wasn't your fault neither." He really hoped that she already knew that, but it was definitely worth saying out loud. God, he hoped she didn't think she'd invited Hollander's attack due to something she'd done or said in the past… some women did, he knew.

Lifting her free hand to curl against her mouth, she struggled to keep her emotions under control and nodded, saying hoarsely, "I know, I… it's just…" She faltered and was unable to continue. She began quietly crying and held on to his hand as though it was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

Joshua extended his free arm to wrap gingerly around her shoulder, uncertain if the comforting hug he offered would be welcome or not.

Upon his touch, she released his hand but turned her body more fully into his embrace, pressing her face against his shoulder as she wept even harder now, not hugging him, for one arm was pressed against her chest and her other hand covered her mouth to muffle her cries, but not willing to decline or deny the comfort and support he was offering either. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered amidst her sobs against his shirt front.

He had no idea why she was apologizing, because certainly she had nothing to be sorry for in the first place. And he told her as much, that she didn't need to be sorry for anything, that he was the one who was sorry, that she'd be all right, and so would Will, for that matter, murmuring the words into her blonde hair as he rested his cheek against the top of her head and tried not to get choked up his own self.

Eventually, her tears subsided and she breathed in a few deep shuddering breaths, wiping her reddened nose against the back of her hand and drawing back to look at the front of his shirt, which was wet and tear-stained now. A smile quivered onto her face as she regarded it for a few moments and said in a shaky voice, "You're going through shirts even faster than Mark, and that's saying something."

He grinned in response as he loosened his grip on her shoulders, though his eyes remained dark with concern for her. "Yeah, well, I'll pick up a few spares the next time I head into Bisbee. Just to be on the safe side."

She laughed weakly, resting her forehead against his chest, and this time she did give him a quick hug before she backed out of his embrace. "Well, I better get started on cleaning off the table," she sighed with resignation, looking at the remnants of their supper.

Joshua walked a few steps away from her, grabbing his hat off of the back of a chair before he started for the door. He looked back long enough to say, "Just give a holler if you need anything," and waited until she gave him a nod to indicate she'd heard him before he continued on outside.

The Arizona night air was chilly as he walked to the barn, especially where the wet fabric from his shirt touched his skin. He could have pulled it away to air it out so that it'd dry faster, but instead, he pressed the damp cloth even closer to his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia  
> "Life must be lived forward, but it can only be understood backward." Attributed to Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1853), a Danish philosopher and theologian. While the phrase "Hindsight is 20/20" is far more familiar to us, I wasn't sure when this phrase, which references 20/20 vision, was coined, so went in search of older wisdoms/sayings regarding hindsight.  
> Harvard University, located in Cambridge, Massachusetts (which is a few miles away from Boston) is the oldest college in the US and was established in 1636.  
> I know it's not really trivia, but as I was writing a scene in this story, I was asking my wonderful beta reader Anonymous2004 if she thought Alice was afraid when Ben Wade was at their house, during the movie. And I meant, not in a sexual tension kind of way, but a genuine fear kind of way. She said, "Yes." So I asked why. And she came up with this gem, which I giggle at just thinking about. Hopefully you are equally entertained. "Look, I'm just saying, if Ben Wade shows up on your doorstep, it's not exactly like he's bringing something good like Jolly Ole St Nick"


	10. Prudence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice, Mark and Joshua care for a feverish Will and try to tend to the ranch. Later, they get surprise visitors from Bisbee.

By the time they got finished feeding and watering the animals for the night, it was almost midnight and Joshua felt like an old horse that had been rode hard and put up wet. Hauling the buckets of water from the pump to the barn was by far the worst part of it. Both Hollander and Gardner had water pumps just outside the barn, the bunkhouse and the ranch house, so drawing water had been far easier the whole way around at those ranches. The Evans ranch just had the single water pump and a well, both of which were a fair piece from the house and the barn.

He accompanied Mark back to the ranch house long enough to check on Will, whose condition had not changed for better or worse since before supper. Alice had prepared another poultice and watched in silence as he checked on the wound and changed out the bandages. The boy's skin was a little warm to the touch, but the tea was working to keep his fever at a manageable level for now.

"We'll know better how he's doing in the morning," Joshua told her. "Just keep in mind, a fever ain't all bad, as it means that his body is working up a sweat tryin' to heal itself."

She stifled a yawn and immediately apologized, "Sorry." Mark was sitting in the rocking chair dozing.

"Nothing to be sorry for, it's been a hell of a day," he replied, yawning himself as he walked to the front door. "If he wakes up or looks like he's getting worse..."

A tired smile touched Alice's lips, "I'll come get you immediately. Goodnight, Joshua… and thank you again, for everything. If you hadn't been here…" she bit her lip and shifted her gaze away from his.

"Hey now, if I ain't allowed to throw around the 'what ifs', then no one gets to. Especially not you," he gently interrupted her before she could finish that line of thought, and then added, "G'night," heading off toward the barn.

He was in the hayloft a few minutes later, already on the verge of falling sleep on a pile of hay, when he heard the barn door open.

"It's just me," Mark quietly called from below. "Ma made me bring you a blanket."

Unbidden, a smile appeared on his face at Alice's concern for his well being. It was cold outside, but between the heat rising from the animals bedding down in the stalls below and raising the temperature in the barn to a comfortable level and his own exhaustion, he was reasonably sure he'd have no trouble falling asleep, but even so...

It took longer than he would have expected for Mark to climb the ladder to the loft, but when the boy appeared, he had the blanket draped over one shoulder, and saddlebags weighing down the other.

Mark's expression was slightly guilty. "I shoulda given this to you earlier, but I forgot," he admitted as he unslung the leather satchel and held it out.

Joshua sat up, staring at the saddlebags for a moment before he took them and unbuckled the straps to withdraw the Hand of God. He'd stowed the Colt pistol in Will's bags before settling the injured teen in the saddle securely enough to get him home.

"Ain't that your old gun?" Mark asked unnecessarily, even though he already knew the answer. The gun was even more recognizable than the man who'd carried it.

"Yeah."

"Is it true, that it's got a curse on it, or did you just tell people that to scare 'em?" the boy asked curiously.

A humorless smile touched Joshua's lips as he looked up at Mark, replying, "It started out as a way to intimidate people, to add to the 'Legend of Ben Wade' I was writin' for myself. Make lawmen even more afraid of crossing me." He paused, shifting the black pistol from one hand to the other, "Given how things have been turning out recently though, I gotta say I'm starting to wonder if there is really a curse on this gun."

Mark hastily assured him, "I didn't touch it. I mean, yeah I opened the saddlebag and saw what it was, but I didn't touch the gun itself. Figured there weren't no sense in taking chances. Do you think it would have cursed me too?"

"The only person that ain't touched by the curse on this gun is Ben Wade himself," Joshua told him wryly. "At least, that's what I've been telling people for years."

Mark's brow furrowed in thought at his words. "But that'd mean that you could be cursed by it too, right? Cause you ain't Ben Wade no more." A yawn escaped him and he blinked owlishly, saying, "I'm goin' to bed. Night," as he went back down the ladder.

Joshua stared at the black Colt pistol for a few moments before he removed all of the bullets from the gun. Then he wrapped it up in his handkerchief and tucked it away under the far edge of the saddle blanket he was using for a pillow.

He fell asleep almost instantly and woke up at dawn, when the animals in the barn began stirring restlessly, eager for their food. Joshua had just climbed down the ladder when Mark appeared, a pail in hand to milk the Evans' milk cow Pansy before breakfast. He went up to the house to check on Will. While Alice was in the kitchen cooking their morning meal, he changed out the teenager's bandages, closely examining his injury for signs of infection. The wound was red and slightly inflamed, but at least the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

Breakfast was a fairly quiet affair. Mark yawned almost nonstop through the entire meal, and both Alice and Joshua seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. The only conversation topic that really came up during the meal was when Mark asked when he'd be going to the Bar-H to the rest of his gear.

He delayed his answer long enough to take a sip from his coffee before stating, "There ain't no point in me goin' back there, since I doubt anything in the tack room would have survived the fire."

"What fire?" Alice asked, frowning.

Mark stared at him. "There was a fire? You didn't mention no fire yesterday. Did the barn catch on fire?"

A wry smile appeared on his face and he pushed his eggs around on his plate with the fork. "I set the barn on fire before I rode out," he admitted, glancing up to meet Alice's eyes, gauging her reaction.

She regarded him speculatively, and from her expression, it was as though a puzzle piece had suddenly fit into place. "Atkins was in the barn when you set it on fire. You said you didn't kill him," she accused.

Joshua shrugged, reminding her, "I also said he was alive when I left, and he was. He wasn't shot, or tied up, or even locked in a grain room. He was layin' on the ground, breathing, and yes, I probably broke his nose, but I didn't kill him."

"So…" Mark started, taking a bite out of his biscuit and chewing it slowly before continuing, "do you think he made it out before the barn burnt down?"

"I doubt it, and I couldn't give a shit if he died," he stated bluntly, impatient with the turn of the conversation. To his eyes, Atkins had been no better than Hollander.

The boy gasped audibly at his curse and immediately looked at his mother to see her response.

Sure enough, Alice gave him a fierce frown. "Mr. Mason, please refrain from using that kind of language at the dinner table."

Joshua stared at her in disbelief for a moment before grating out, "Yes ma'am. Your table, your rules." He hunkered down over his plate and focused on cleaning his plate, and the others did the same.

The rest of the meal passed in a somewhat strained silence, and when he finished, Mark carried his plate over to the wash bin. "I'm gonna get started on my chores," he announced and hurried outside, eager to escape the tension that lingered in the house.

After draining the rest of his coffee, Joshua stood more slowly, still mildly irritated at being scolded like a child. Even so, he had to give Alice some credit… she was a widow woman doing her best to raise her children right, instilling them with a sense of decency and good manners, and apparently that meant no cussin' at the dinner table. Well, he supposed that still left plenty of other places he could cuss if he wanted to. He put his plate and fork in the bin as well and collected his hat off the back of his chair.

Alice was up from the table as well, standing by the wood stove and pouring water into a tea cup. "Joshua," she said.

Sensing he was about to get a talking-to, Joshua paused in putting on his hat and looked at her expectantly.

She turned to face him. "If you work for us, I'm going to have to ask that you exercise a little prudence in regards to your interactions with others. I know that Tom Atkins was the one to waylay you, most likely on Glen Hollander's command, and I get that you feel some sort of retribution was in order. But at the same time, well, for instance, when we go into Bisbee to pick up supplies and the like, I'd really rather not have to worry about you killing someone for picking a fight, or insulting you, or even insulting me. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes ma'am."

Satisfied with his answer, Alice went back to stirring the tea.

Joshua stared at the back of her blonde head and at the clearly visible bruises on her neck, just above the fabric of her muslin dress, from where Hollander had choked her. He walked up to stand right behind her, not quite touching.

She stiffened at his close proximity, but didn't stop stirring the tea, even when he grimly spoke with his lips a few inches away from her ear, "You know, when I was locked in that grain room, and Atkins was on the other side with a gun pointed at me through the door, I think he honestly regretted keeping me there. Not because he felt bad for what he was doing, but it meant that he couldn't be where he wanted to be—here, with Hollander, taking his turn with you."

She froze, inhaling sharply at his words and he ruthlessly continued, "So I'm thinking I did act prudently by doin' what I did, not just in beating him until he was unconscious and leaving him there to die, but burning the barn down in a way that would make his death seem like an accident if the law comes to investigate. So you tell me, Alice, would it have been more prudent for me to leave him be and let him live, so that he had a chance to come here or get revenge some other way for what happened to him, or to Hollander?"

Alice had no answer and Joshua stepped away from her to walk toward the door, settling his hat on his head before he went outside.

He spent the early part of the morning close to the ranch helping with the duties typical to ranch life, feeding and watering the cattle and horses again, cleaning the barn, checking the corral fences for repairs and the like. A subdued Alice gave them a cloth sack filled with biscuits leftover from breakfast, meat, cheese and some carrots to take with them for lunch out on the range.

Joshua saddled up Dawson with Will's saddle, and he and Mark drove the cattle out for the morning, and Alice watched them depart from the porch.

The ranch was barely even out of sight before Mark asked curiously, "Did you and Ma get into an argument after breakfast or something?"

Joshua gave the boy a sidelong look before answering, "It was more a discussion than an argument."

"Uh-huh." The boy gave him a look of pure skepticism but let the subject drop.

Compared to the events of the previous, the day passed in relative peace and quiet. The creek that fed precious water to the Evans land was now free-flowing, so the torrential rain must have been sufficient to knock out the poorly made dam, or possibly been overrun by a flash flood. Mark pointed out the best grazing areas around their range and talked amiably about anything and everything that came to his mind. Despite Joshua's usual reticence, when Mark left after lunch to return to the ranch for his afternoon chores, he found he missed the boy's lively chatter. He was a bright kid with a natural gift for tracking that far surpassed his own.

Mark rejoined him late that afternoon and together they drove the cattle back home. Alice's mood had improved significantly by the time they returned, largely due to the fact that Will had woken up enough to use the chamber pot and drink down some beef broth before falling into an exhausted sleep again. He stirred, opening his eyes when Alice led Joshua into the room. She took her son's hand in hers and gave him a reassuring smile while Joshua checked his wound. The bran applications were keeping the swelling and fluid drainage down, but it was even more red and inflamed than it had been earlier that morning and despite Will's apparent improvement, it seemed infection was setting in.

"I think the bran's done about as much as it's going to do at this point, so we're going to start using a bread and milk poultice," Joshua announced quietly, looking at Alice. "You ever made one of those?"

She nodded immediately, "Yes… I'll have Mark go ahead and milk Pansy before supper so I can start the milk to boiling." Alice bent down, brushing a kiss to Will's pale forehead and assuring him, "I'll be right back."

"How bad is it?" Will asked hoarsely, watching as Joshua loosely covered the bullet hole again.

He shrugged, a slight smile appearing on his face as he sat down in the chair by the bed and assured the boy, "I've known men who've survived worse wounds than this one." And that was true. But he'd also seen men die of infection from wounds that seemed to be little more than scratches.

Will's eyes shifted from Joshua to the doorway his mother had exited the room through. "How 'bout Ma? I mean… is she all right?"

He gave the boy a stern look and ordered, "Don't you be worryin' about her at all. She's doing fine… well enough that she lit into me this morning for saying 'shit' at the breakfast table."

A weak chuckle escaped Will at that and he grimaced in pain at the effect that had on his chest wound. He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly, trying to tamp down the pain. When it had apparently reached a manageable level again, he smiled faintly. "I bet she did… she really hates it if anyone cusses at the table. Has she gotten on to you yet for putting your elbows on the table while you eat?"

"No, not yet," he admitted with a wry grin. "I'll be sure and watch myself from now on though, now that I know."

"That'ssa good plan," Will slurred, his eyes drooping as he started to drift off again.

The smile faded from Joshua's face and after a moment's hesitation, he reached out to rest his hand gently on the boy's forehead. It felt hot, and a thin layer of sweat beaded his skin.

At the touch, he opened his eyes again and focused on Joshua. "You ain't leavin', are ya?" he mumbled sleepily.

"I ain't goin' nowhere," Joshua reassured him, brushing the boy's damp hair off his forehead before withdrawing his hand.

Satisfied, he fell asleep.

"Supper's on the table," Alice spoke quietly from the doorway.

He nodded to indicate he heard her and slowly rose to his feet before brushing past her to go wash up for supper.

Like breakfast had been, supper was a fairly quiet affair. Joshua was careful to avoid putting his elbows on the table during the meal, a feat which required far more concentration than he would have imagined. He glanced over at Mark to see how he managed it, noting how the boy instead occasionally braced his forearms against the edge of the table for support.

Mark caught his look and also held up his fork as well to indicate the differences between their grips on the eating utensil. Where he held the fork resting lightly against the inside edge of his palm, Joshua tended to envelope the whole thing in his palm.

A cough emerged from Alice's end of the table, but when he looked sharply in that direction, she was taking a sip of water and her eyes were downcast, hiding her expression.

He decided the best course of action was to give up on the fork for now, and just focused on keeping his elbows off the table. Any improvement was better than none, right?

After supper, Alice applied the bread and milk poultice to Will's wound while Joshua held him down as he twisted in agony. The milk-soaked bandage was uncomfortably hot to the touch and made her hands red and raw, but she never once complained, though she seemed on the verge of tears at what she was forced to put her son through in hopes of helping him get better.

When the day's work was finally done, and Joshua wearily climbed up to the loft and settled in to sleep on his makeshift bed of hay. He had a dream that night—really more a nightmare than a dream. The Hand of God betrayed him, first by backfiring at a critical moment in a gunfight, and then by not firing at all. When Byron McElroy was closing in on him with a hangman's noose in his hand, he had to resort to using the black gun as a club. It did finally fire, only the bullet hit him square in the chest, and it was as though he physically felt the impact of the bullet, not a sting but a jolt of pain that caused his muscles to seize up the way they had when that railroad construction camp foreman had strung him up and tortured him. So there he lay, dying, and Byron's gloating face shifted to Mark's, mournfully informing him, "Like I said, you ain't Ben Wade no more."

He woke up, sweaty and clutching his chest, a quiet groan of pain ringing in his ears. When the groan was followed by a muffled shout, he initially thought he was still dreaming, until he remembered that his dreams generally didn't have the added reality of smelling like manure, the quiet whicker of horses, or particularly stiff pieces of straw poking him through his shirt.

Joshua rolled to his knees, pulling his unremarkable Colt pistol from where he'd laid his gun belt and hurried down the ladder, jumping the last few feet to the ground. He set off toward the house at a run, and as he got closer he could hear Will's indistinct voice. Alice was saying something as well, and her tone wasn't one of fear, but the quiet and reassuring murmur of a mother trying to soothe her child. There were no signs that anyone other than the Evans family was in the house, but still, he entered the house warily, though he kept his gun lowered.

Mark was leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom, knuckling his eyes sleepily. He blearily regarded Joshua as the man entered the house and spared enough energy to lift one hand in greeting before resting his head against the wall. "Why you got your gun?" he asked around a yawn, blinking with confusion.

"I heard shouting," he explained simply, entering the bedroom.

Alice was sitting on the bed with Will and in the process of dipping a cloth into a bowl of water. She was barefoot and clad only in the simple cotton chemise she'd apparently been sleeping in. When she saw Joshua, her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed, but she stoically remained by her son's side. "He's burning up," she said quietly, wringing out the cloth and pressing the cool fabric against the boy's forehead.

Will's eyes were scrunched shut and he shook his head and loudly said, "I ain't never walkin' in your shoes…nothin' but a coward…"

Joshua put his gun down on the dresser and went around the bed opposite Alice, reaching out to touch the boy's head. His skin was unbelievably hot to the touch. "Has he had any tea since supper?"

She shook her head, flipping the cloth to the cooler side and putting it against Will's cheeks. "No. It'll take me some time to brew the tea…" He began thrashing again, mumbling incoherently this time and she worriedly asked, "Should we draw a bath?"

Giving Will a bath in cool water was almost certainly the quickest way to bring down his raging fever, and Joshua knew it as well as Alice. "Yes. Here, let me take those," he said, holding out his hand for the bowl of water and rag.

Nodding, Alice pushed both into his hands and climbed off the bed. "Mark, drag that tub in here and start filling it with water," she ordered, crossing her arms over her chest as she left the room.

The cloth had already been heated clear through, and Joshua wet it again to place against Will's head over and over while both Mark and Alice, who was now wearing her dress again, worked together to fill the small tub with water. When it was full enough, he shouldered the delirious teenager, who was now grief stricken and sobbing, "Pa, pa, you did it, you got him on the train…" up and out of the bed.

Alice and Mark maneuvered his feet into the tub and the instant the cool water touched his feet, he yelled and kicked out, knocking his brother back with a grunt. Alice barely managed to avoid the same fate. Fortunately between the fever and blood loss, he was pretty weak, and that ended up being the one and only outburst of motion. They got him sitting in the small tub, wearing nothing but his skivvies, and began pouring cups of water over his head and shoulders, doing their best to avoid getting his gunshot wound wet in the process.

Mark brought Will a dry pair of undergarments and a towel and watched as the two adults worked on lowering his fever. After a few minutes, he was shivering, though he still seemed to be incoherent. It took some coordination on all their parts to lever him up and out of the tub to dry him off, and redress him. By the time they got him back in the bed, Joshua was soaking wet himself.

Alice left the room long enough to get the willow bark tea and returned also bearing the shirt Joshua had been wearing when he'd carried Will in. "It's stained, but only just," she said, handing him the cleaned and dry shirt before making her way to Will's side.

"Thank you," he said, shucking off the wet fabric.

She nodded as she levered Will's head up and tilted the cup, giving him small sips that he swallowed reflexively.

Mark was examining the bare-chested Joshua as he shook out his clean, dry shirt and noted with some surprise, "You ain't ever been shot?"

"I've been shot. Once." Joshua pointed out the long narrow scar that ran across the flesh of his left arm. "Got that one in Contention when we were running for the train."

Alice glanced up long enough to see the scar before turning her attention back to Will.

"Wait, all those robberies, like what… ten or fifteen stagecoach robberies?"

"Twenty-two," Joshua corrected.

Mark rolled his eyes, "All right then, twenty-two robberies and you only been shot the one time?"

He shrugged, slipping his arm into the sleeve. "I was very lucky… and very very good at it." It wasn't bragging, but frank honesty. He had been extremely good at planning and executing stage coach robberies. Possibly even the best ever.

"Why'd you do it?" Alice asked without looking up at him, still focused on getting William to drain the rest of the teacup.

Joshua finished slipping the shirt over his shoulders as he answered, "At first? I did it for the money." A rueful chuckle escaped him and he buttoned up his shirt, continuing, "Isn't that what people say? 'It's always about the money.' Stagecoach seemed like an easy target. Only got the two men on it, guarding a load of cash, and one's got his hands full driving the wagon. Plus, robbing the railroad stagecoaches meant there'd be no bystanders or passengers who might get caught up in it."

"And that first robbery, knowing we pulled it off, that we'd succeeded and gotten all that money, that feeling…," Joshua whistled low, shaking his head at the memory. "It was exhilarating. It was the most exciting and satisfying thing I'd ever done in my life. Better than a winning night of cards in the saloon, better than a glass of expensive whiskey, better than s…" he glanced at Mark and drew up short of completing that sentence, but his gaze lingered on Alice, wordlessly conveying to her exactly what else it had been better than. "But here I had all this money, more money than I thought I could ever spend, and I wanted to go out and do it again, not just to get more money, but to feel that, that powerful feeling again. After about the fifteenth job, even that started to get old, and then it became more about outsmarting the railroad bosses, just to see if I could pull it off one more time. For the men in my gang, it was always about the money though." Charlie Prince's face appeared in his thoughts, bloodied and battered with that startled look of hurt betrayal after he'd been shot, like a faithful dog that'd been kicked by its master. He mentally amended his statement. For at least one person in his gang, it had not all been about money.

Mark had such an expression of tacit disapproval on his face, it almost made Joshua laugh out loud. "But you don't do that any more."

"No, I don't do that anymore," he readily agreed. "Even before I got caught, I had planned for that Bisbee stagecoach job to be my last. And it was."

William had finished drinking the tea, but as Alice stood up he began talking in disjointed sentences again. "I don't wanna move out West, Pa… can't we…..'im some medicine…that'll fix him… good as new, like a penny…."

"He's still got the fever, but it's not nearly as high as it was," Alice said, worriedly looking from her son to Joshua. "I think we should do another milk poultice."

All levity had left Joshua's face and he nodded, reaching out to check Will's temperature. While his skin felt slightly cooler to the touch than it had, he was already sweating again, despite the bath they had given him such a short time ago. "We need to start giving him more water, or broth… anything he'll drink and keep down. With how much he's sweating, right now he's burning it away faster than we're giving it to him."

"I'll go get him some water," Mark offered and quickly left the room.

Joshua knew that whatever they did to treat him these next few hours would almost certainly determine whether or not William lived or died. He looked grimly at Alice's frightened face and saw in her eyes the same awareness of how dire the situation had become. "He'll be all right, because we're not going to let him die," he said with stubborn determination.

Alice exhaled slowly and her expression was resolute as she steadfastly agreed, "No, we're not."

Despite the fact that he'd had the Bible memorized since he was eight years old, Joshua had never been a praying man, mostly because he felt it was rather hypocritical to be asking for God's help when he was going around breaking so many of His commandments. But he decided right then and there was as good a time and place to start as any. He promised God and himself that if the Lord would let William live, he'd walk a straight and narrow path from that moment forward, and would never break the law again… unless it was for a really good reason, of course.

His fever persisted not just through that night, but through the following night as well. Joshua and Alice were both exhausted, not just from the task of caring for Will in addition to performing their usual duties, but from lack of sleep, since he frequently shouted during his delirious state and woke up everyone in hearing range. Mark took to sleeping in the barn on the second night in hopes that the distance would make it possible for him to sleep in relative peace while Joshua and Alice alternated shifts in caring for Will, catching every wink of sleep they could.

The boy's decision to sleep in the hayloft turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The second night of his fever, Alice was laying down to sleep in Mark's bed while Joshua sat in the room with the feverish teenager. She heard the low mutter as his ramblings started and when they got louder she abruptly realized he was describing from his own perspective the shock and horror he had felt upon discovering her unconscious body following Hollander's rape.

"…her neck… what's he done to her?... oh God, please don't let it be… please please please please please no…gotta pull her dress down before Mark sees… Oh God, Pa, why weren't you here? You shoulda been here to protect her….shouldn't have left her alone… Where were you, Joshua? Didn't you know what he was gonna do to her?...shoulda stopped it... I'll kill him for this… kill him kill him dead just like shooting a jackrabbit…."

She wept silently into the pillow, heartbroken in the knowledge that her son felt so much at fault for what had happened to her, when it had not been his fault, any more than it'd been Joshua's, or—and now she admitted it to herself for the first time, that it wasn't her fault. The blame for what had happened to her lay with no one but Glen Hollander, and he was dead.

When she woke up later that morning and went into her room, she found Joshua sitting upright in the chair, hollow-eyed. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days and that, coupled with the lack of sleep he'd endured the past two days, made him look worn and haggard. In all fairness though, she was fairly certain she didn't look like the belle of the ball herself.

He looked in her direction when she entered the room, but she found she couldn't quite force herself to meet his eyes. "You heard him last night," he said roughly, and it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes." Alice bit her lip as she bent over Will, feeling his forehead. The fever was still present. "Do you think Mark heard?" she asked, willingly meeting his weary eyes as she voiced one of her biggest fears.

"No, I don't," he immediately replied, shaking his head. "He wasn't talking all that loud."

The topic was dropped as the subject of their discussion entered the house, cheerful and appearing far more well-rested than the two adults. He announced that he hadn't woken up a single time that night, much to Alice's relief. She went through the rest of the day feeling rather like a puppet with broken strings, reeling this way and that as she endured the grueling task of washing clothes while Mark and Joshua took the cattle out for the day.

Will had another period of delirious conversation with himself that afternoon, and this time centered around the moment at which he'd confronted Hollander, apparently in Joshua's presence. "…he's gotta die, gotta die, gonna kill him like he ain't nothin' but a jackrabbit… no, no you said, you said killin' a man was no different…I want to be the one to kill him, he's gotta die… once you kill someone, you can't take it back… the gun in his boot…" He gasped sharply, so suddenly that Alice herself jumped in reaction, and she realized that must have been the moment when he'd been shot. His voice was almost sulky when he spoke again, quietly, fading fast, "… but I wanted to kill him…"

The boy's words remained in her thoughts the rest of the day. From what she gathered, both Joshua and Will had confronted Hollander at the same time. But when Will was about to shoot the landowner… had Joshua tried to talk him out of it? That's what it had sounded like. Then Hollander had pulled out the Derringer, the 'gun in his boot' to shoot Will, after which Joshua had killed Hollander.

Alice figured that sooner or later, she'd get the full story from Joshua, or Will for that matter, when he woke up. She refused to even consider the possibility that her son wouldn't wake up.

His fever finally broke just before bedtime that night, right after she'd finished her bath. For the first time since he'd been shot, Will slept restfully. His skin was still startlingly pale, but he'd stopped sweating, shivering, and babbling incoherently. His skin also no longer felt like it burned to the touch anymore. Joshua returned to sleeping in the hayloft while Mark and Alice slept together in the boys' bed.

The following morning when he appeared at the house, she shoved Dan's shaving kit into his hands as a none-too-subtle hint, and told him that breakfast would be ready by the time he finished shaving. He feigned insult, but she could see glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he accepted the shaving kit, and then helped himself to the clean shirt and trousers that were hanging on the line from the previous day's washing.

When he appeared about half an hour later, presumably after washing in the creek, he was clean-shaven and back to looking more like his usual self—like his Joshua self, at least.

Will still hadn't woken from his deep sleep by the time breakfast was served, but the atmosphere had still improved vastly from the previous couple of days. They were running low on some supplies and Alice knew they'd need to make a trip into Bisbee soon. Going to town was a bit of a to-do for their family, and she eyed Mark's shaggy hair critically. She'd have to give him a haircut before they made the trip, and now that she thought about it, Joshua could use a trim as well. Especially since his short hair was part of his 'disguise', such as it was.

After breakfast, she washed the dishes while Mark and Joshua went about tending the morning chores. It was Tuesday—Ironing Day—and given the small amount of items she bothered ironing, that made the day a welcome break from the hard labor of the previous Wash Day.

She'd just set the iron to heat up on the fire when she heard the sound of horses approaching the house. It was still too early yet for them to be taking the cattle out on the range, but visitors were extremely unusual, especially at this hour of the morning. Alice walked to the front porch and watched as two men rode in from the south. Mark and Joshua had already emerged from the barn and were walking in their direction.

Alice recognized both men, though she couldn't stop the surge of anxiety that filled her at their presence. "Marshal Thompson, Deputy Young," she greeted them both in kind with a smile.

Joshua and Mark had already crossed the relatively short distance between the house and the barn, and stood slightly to the right of the porch, watching the two men. Alice noted with some relief that Joshua didn't have his gunbelt on. Not that she expected him to come up guns a-blazing or anything at the mere sight of the lawmen, but still, a quick glance at the former outlaw indicated to her that he was as taut as a bowstring, though he greeted them with an easy, "G'morning," that Mark echoed.

"Howdy, Miz Evans," Marshal Eugene Thompson returned as he dismounted and tipped his hat in her direction. He was a very average looking man in his mid forties and with balding sandy brown hair and a long drooping mustache.

By contrast, Deputy Mitch Young was handsome, with warm brown eyes and thick black hair. He was also, well, young, probably no older than twenty five, by her estimation, and about as green as the day was long. He climbed down from his horse and turned to tip his hat in respect as well. "Morning, Miz Eva… good God almighty, what happened to your neck?" he blurted, staring at her with dismay.

The smile froze on Alice's face and involuntarily she raised one hand to somewhat block the view of her neck. She had not even thought about the bruises, which had faded slightly from black and blues to mottled green, when she'd seen the two men ride up. Mark and Joshua never mentioned her neck, and she couldn't see it herself unless she was sitting in front of the looking glass.

'Oh, for Christ's sake, Young," Marshal Thompson said disgustedly at his partner's lack of tact. He was a good man and did a decent job at keeping the peace in Bisbee. Examining her closely for a moment, he shifted a sharp gaze from Alice to Mark and then Joshua's unfamiliar face. "Everything all right? Where's your boy, Will?" he asked, resting a hand on the butt of his revolver. The simple gesture was done with casual grace, but Alice knew that if she'd made any indication of being in danger, that gun would immediately be brought to bear on Joshua.

Mark seemed to have come to the same realization and fidgeting, slipped around from Joshua's side to stand directly in front of him.

"Will's been pretty sick and is laid up in bed, but other than that, everything's fine." Alice reassured the lawman with a smile, and gestured with one hand toward Joshua. "Marshal, have you met Joshua Mason? He's a friend of Dan's and got in town a few weeks ago."

"Don't reckon I have," Thompson said, sizing the other man up briefly before he held out his hand. "Marshal Gene Thompson, at your service. This here's my deputy, Mitch Young," he added with a glance at his companion.

The men all exchanged handshakes. "Pleased to meet you, Marshal, Deputy," Joshua greeted each man in kind with an easy and relaxed grin that didn't quite meet his eyes.

"I apologize for bein' a little suspicious, but with Glen Hollander bein' found dead, his barn burned clear to the ground and a dead body in that, well, we're tryin' to err on the side of caution," Thompson explained. "Had you seen him recently?"

Alice nodded stiffly. "Yes. Mr. Hollander came by here a couple of times last week, most recently on Friday."

Thompson and his deputy exchanged a significant look at her words. "You say he was here on Friday? You or your boys see anything unusual? Because apparently at some point between leaving here and makin' it home, he got hisself shot and killed. One of his men found the body a few miles to the south. At first glance, it looked like he'd got himself caught up in a flash flood, but when the undertaker cleaned him up, well, bullet holes ain't generally part of bein' in a flash flood."

"I killed him."

Alice gasped and turned to find Will was making his way across the short distance from the bedroom door to the porch, using anything and everything in his reach for support so that he didn't collapse. He'd pulled on a pair of Dan's trousers that were way too large for him and were only held on his thin frame by the suspenders. The teenager's skin almost as white as the bandages he had wrapped around his chest, and a dull red circle in the fabric indicated exactly where he'd been shot.

"I killed Glen Hollander, for what he done to my Ma," Will grimly said again and when he reached the doorjamb, he could go no further and leaned there, his head lowered and panting with effort.

"Will! You should be in bed!" Alice worriedly said, hurrying to his side and slipping an arm under him for support. Joshua was at the boy's opposite side a breath later and together, they helped him into the nearest place for him to get off his feet—a rickety chair on the porch that Mark helpfully moved closer.

Marshal Thompson watched as they got Will settled in the chair and when the boy could sit up right again, he said, "Son, I respect what you done for your Ma, but killin' a man, especially a man as powerful as Glen Hollander, that ain't no small matter."

Will's jaw had a stubborn and unrepentant set to it and his voice was harsh when he spoke again, "You look at her, at her neck, and tell me if you'da done any different if he'd done it to your own Ma."

Both men glanced at Alice and she stiffened at their inspection, but tilted her chin bravely. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

Young and Thompson exchanged another look and then the Marshal shook his head. "No, you're right, son. I reckon I'da done the same damn thing if someone'd laid their hands on my Mama like that," he said bleakly.

"It's that gun, I'm tellin' ya, Marshal. He never should have got that gun," Young muttered in a low voice.

"What gun?" Alice asked blankly and out of the corner of her eye, saw Mark glance quickly up at Joshua.

Sighing through his mustache, Thompson shook his head and gave his deputy a quelling look. "It seems Hollander went to some auction and picked himself up some gun that used to belong to Ben Wade."

Deputy Young was nodding vigorously. "The Hand of God, that's what it's called. A black custom made Colt with a gold crucifix in the handle. They say it's cursed, that no one can use it but Ben Wade himself. But Hollander got it anyway and he was dead less than a day later, on account of that curse."

Alice very nearly rolled her eyes. She was far too practical a woman to believe in curses, and Hollander hadn't been killed because of the gun he carried, but because of what he'd done to her.

"I'm sure it's just coincidence," Marshal Thompson said and then admitted, "Though it is pretty bad luck that his barn burned down the same day. Ya'll don't happen to know anything about that, do you?"

"His barn burned down?" Will blinked and quite clearly had no prior knowledge of that event.

Both Alice and Mark darted quick looks Joshua's way at mention of the fire. The sharp-eyed Thompson witnessed that and leveled a steady look at the other man, "You know something about that, Mason?"

He hesitated before answering, "Just that it burned down. When I first got to town, I actually signed on with Mr. Hollander as a cowhand, and was workin' for him until last Friday. Once I found out what he did to her though," and here, he jerked his chin at Alice, "I didn't want no part of that. I got caught on this side of the flash flood and Mrs. Evans hired me on, seeing as they were short-handed anyway, with William laid up." It was the best kind of explanation to give—one that had so much truth in it that it all but buried the little lie hidden amidst it. "How'd the fire start, anyway?"

Thompson smoothed down the corner of his mustache, confessing, "We ain't rightly sure, to be honest. Possibly the building got struck by lightning during that storm that passed through. There was a body in the rubble, and since no one's seen hide nor hair of him since the fire, it seems like Tom Atkins got caught up in it. We think after the fire started, he went back in there and set all the horses free, but the barn collapsed on him before he could get out."

Young nodded admiringly, "Yeah, it was pretty brave of him, goin' back in there to set the horses free so they didn't burn up."

Joshua glanced down at the ground and adjusted his hat, finally stating in a tone approaching dry amusement, "He was a good wrangler."

"Yup, that he was." Thompson gave the other man an appraising look. "That he was." He cleared his and asked Alice, "I wonder if I could have a word or two with you in private?" punctuating his request with a reassuring smile.

"Of course, Marshal Thompson," she readily agreed, and followed the tall lawman a short distance away from the others.

He turned to face her and tugged at his whiskers for a moment before speaking. "You say Mason was a friend of Dan's?"

Alice immediately nodded and arched a brow at Thompson, calmly inquiring, "Why? Is there some sort of problem?" Inwardly, her heart was racing with worry that he'd recognized Joshua.

"No, no," he shook his head, peering beyond her to where Joshua stood watching them from the porch. "It's just, Hell, I don't know. There's something about him that just is kinda, well, I can't quite put my thumb on it. He seems awfully edgy around Young and me, and usually a man ain't twitchy around lawmen unless he's got something to hide. Also, did you see his face when we were talking about Atkins? I near 'bout thought he was gonna smile when we were talkin' about how Atkins died in that barn fire."

Carefully considering her words, she explained, "He, ah, had a couple of run-ins with some corrupt lawmen a few years back, and it's made him a bit suspicious of the law in general." Alice smiled warmly up at Thompson, "Now I know you and Deputy Young are both honest, but, well, you know how it goes. Honestly, I think that whole ordeal with the Earps up in Tombstone put a lot of lawmen in a bad light."

Thompson snorted at that. "That's God's own truth and I can't blame anyone for that. Just talking about that whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

"And regarding Mr. Atkins, well…" she pursed her lips, "Mr. Mason's told us he didn't much like working with the man. Apparently Mr. Atkins showed far more concern for his horses than he did for the men working under him."

"Tom Atkins was a surly old bastard—pardon my language." The Marshal straightened, "Well, if you're sure about this Mason fellow…"

"I'm sure," Alice stated very firmly. She turned to look back at Joshua and a slight smile touched her lips. "He's a little rough around the edges, and at times, he's got a rather dry sense of humor, but he'd never do anything to harm us. In fact, if it weren't for him, Will probably would have died from his wounds. He was the one who removed the bullet."

"Didn't want to take any chances with Doc Hall, eh? I can't say as I blame you. God forbid me or Deputy Young ever get shot up, cause I think I'd rather take my chances with gangrene than that drunk ol' coot." Thompson looked around the ranch one last time and nodded with satisfaction, tipping his hat in her direction in a gesture of gentlemanly respect. "Well, I think we've finished our business here. Thank you kindly for your time, Mrs. Evans."

She barely stifled a sigh of relief and followed the tall man back toward the house.

He rejoined his partner and mounted back up on his horse. Bidding the others farewell, the Marshal gave a nod as he addressed each. "Will, hope you get to feelin' better soon. Mark, take good care of your Ma an' your brother. Nice meetin' you too, Mr. Mason," Thompson said, and as an afterthought added, "Just want you to know, all lawmen ain't as trigger happy as them Earps. So long as you obey the law, you won't find yourself in any kind of trouble with us. Come on, Young."

Deputy Young offered them a jaunty salute as he clicked his tongue at his horse and trotted off after the Marshal.

Will could barely even muster enough energy to wave and sat slumped in the chair. "I'm hungry," he mumbled wearily and on cue, his stomach growled loudly. The return of his appetite was a wonderfully welcome sign that he was finally getting back to normal.

Smiling, Alice ducked under his arm to help him back into the house.

Joshua levered the injured teen up from the opposite side and cocked an eyebrow at her from over the top of Will's head. "What was that he was saying about the Earps?"

She laughed outright at the question. "I'll explain later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia  
> Bread and milk poultices are another home remedy still used occasionally even to this day. It's supposedly very effective against infections and sometimes even works better than modern antiseptic creams.  
> The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral is one of the most familiar and iconic gun battles that took place in the Old West. Despite the numerous positive twists put on the gun fight by modern culture and film, the circumstances surrounding it were highly debated. Many at the time claimed the brothers Wyatt, Virgil, and Morgan Earp and their friend Doc Holliday were spoiling for a fight and in fact, fired the first bullets that set off the whole thing. After the gunfight, Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday were formally charged with murder, though the case never went to trial as the presiding judge felt there wasn't evidence to convict.  
> Marshal is a military rank used in many countries. It has numerous uses and references in the United States, including Federal Marshals (like the one Tommy Lee Jones portrayed in the movie The Fugitive), Air Marshals to protect commercial airlines in flight, and my own use of it in this story. In general, in this area of the country at the time this story was written, a Marshal would be about the equivalent of a town Sheriff or a constable.  
> Let's talk CSI: Old West. I have no idea regarding the extent to which law enforcement would investigate a murder or any other crime circa 1880. Marshal Thompson's investigation of Hollander's death seemed to be both reasonable and logical, given Glen Hollander's wealth and status in the community.


	11. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will begins his recovery, and Alice and Joshua venture into Bisbee for supplies.

The following week was blissfully uneventful and Joshua settled into a routine working with Mark every day. Alice was amazed by his constant patience in working with the boy, who invariably asked an endless stream of questions, wanting to know about some of the books Joshua'd read and memorized, the places he'd been and the things he'd seen.

He never complained about the number of questions Mark asked either, though one night during dinner after he'd just finished telling them about some tunnels beneath taverns and saloons in Portland, Oregon that had been used to 'shanghai' unsuspecting men and women (and very nearly himself, on one particular occasion), he held up one hand and said firmly, "That's enough questions for today, Mark."

It must not have been the first time he'd had to put his foot down, because Mark didn't argue or fuss. He appeared to be lost in thought as he quietly finished the rest of the meal. Alice half-way suspected her overly inquisitive son was compiling a list of new things to ask the following day.

Still, she learned a lot of things about their new ranch hand that she might not otherwise have known were it not for Mark's curious nature. For example, at one time Joshua had been a scout for the Army and spoke Spanish as well as a few different Indian dialects. He'd actually met the famous General George Armstrong Custer, who he referred to as 'that damn fool', and Doc Holliday, who he described as still deadly in a gunfight even though he was half dead of consumption. He liked playing cards but didn't like gambling because it left too much to chance. In the 70s, he'd seen a pile of buffalo skulls that was more than 25 feet high, a sight that indicated to him the famous plain animal would be hunted out of existence soon by white men, if it hadn't already happened. Where millions of the great beasts had once roamed the plains, now newspapers were saying they were impossible to find.

There was so much about the man that remained a mystery though. Where had he been born? Where did he grow up? Did he have any family anywhere? Brothers or sisters or cousins or _anyone_? What were his parents like, and what would they have thought of his becoming a famous thief and outlaw? Alice recalled William telling her that before Joshua—no, before Ben Wade had thrown Byron McElroy off of a cliff, the grizzled Pinkerton had insulted the outlaw by calling him the spawn of a gravedigger and a whore. She supposed McElroy could have been telling the truth, not that it mattered really. No one got to choose how their parents made their living.

To his credit, Joshua never tried to make his travels seem like a big adventure or glamorous in any way. He'd seen men, women, and even children die, sometimes deliberately killed by others, but usually by just having the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was dangerous in the Wild West, even for someone like him, no matter what the dime magazines said.

Will's health was slowly improving, though he was still very weak and confined to bed rest. The bullet hole in his chest looked terrible but the wound's ragged edges were scabbing over. Every day Alice had to set aside time to boil and wash the bandages, hanging them out to dry so they would be ready to use the following day. Will was a good patient for the most part, and whiled away the time by sleeping and reading his books and dime magazines.

Joshua made it a point to sit with him every day and their quiet conversations invariably centered around the books they both loved to read. One evening, Alice had just finished putting up the dishes when it occurred to her that Joshua had been talking for an awfully long time. It took her a few moments to realize that he wasn't talking, but reading a book out loud to Will—well, quoting really, since he didn't actually have the book in front of him.

She found herself sitting down in the rocking chair just outside the bedroom as his smooth voice relayed the tale of an orphan child with the strange name 'Oliver Twist'. Mark came in a few minutes later and sat down in front of the fire to join her to listen to the story as well.

Joshua didn't 'read' for much longer. When he emerged from the bedroom, he saw his 'audience' extended beyond Will's ears and muttered a low, "Good night," before heading off to the barn for the night. The following evening though, he waited until Alice and Mark were settled in the sitting room before he continued the story from right where he'd left off. He only recited a chapter a night, probably to save his voice from going completely hoarse, but she found that listening to him recite was a surprisingly relaxing way to wind down the day.

She was on the mend herself outwardly, and to a lesser extent, inwardly. She had terrible nightmares every night and woke Mark up by thrashing in her sleep on more than one occasion. But her bruises were healing. That was important, because despite the fact that she needed things from the General Store in Bisbee, she absolutely refused to go to town while there was any hint of bruising left on her face or especially on her neck, especially after how shocked Deputy Young's reaction had been.

Alice had no doubt that rumors were flying around Bisbee due to the circumstances regarding Hollander's death, but with any luck, they were more focused on the fact that the landowner, who had quite a reputation in town for his ruthless business practices, would no longer be around to plague average folk. And that brought to mind another reason she needed to go to Bisbee—the Evans land deed. With Hollander dead, she needed to know what would be happening with the land, not just the land she and the boys (and now Joshua) were living on, but Hollander's land as well, since he had the water rights for all land in the area, including her own.

As far as she knew, Glen Hollander had no relatives or kin that his property would pass to. She doubted the man had any debts, so there was no point in the bank selling off his assets to pay them. The thousands of cattle branded with the Double Bar-H logo were apparently spreading far and wide on their own as they roamed from one food source to another, because with Hollander and Atkins dead, the Bar-H ranch hands had immediately up and left for greener pastures, so to speak, figuring there was no point in staying and working if there was no one left alive to pay them. Likely most of the men had taken some of the longhorns with them as payment for their months' worth of labor.

Some of the cattle had even joined up with the Evans own, nearly doubling the small herd's size. When Alice had watched Joshua and Mark bring in the larger herd and seen the familiar interlocking pair of Hs that formed the Bar-H brand on some of the cows, she had marched right out to the corral to order them to take the cattle back to Hollanders land.

"We'll not be branded as cattle thieves," she had stated firmly.

Joshua merely shrugged, pointing out, "You can't steal from a dead man. We didn't take them, they joined the herd on their own, and since it was just me out there when they trotted on up, it's not like one man can keep two groups of cattle that are determined to form one larger herd apart all by himself. Besides, I worked and worked hard for Hollander those couple of weeks I was there. I figure this is as good a payment as any."

Alice could not really argue with his logic, because it was true, separating the dead landowner's cattle from their own would likely be more trouble than it was worth. They didn't have nearly enough feed for a herd of cattle this large, especially with them running low anyway. Luckily, the rain had brought fresh growth of grass and flowers, and even with cutting back on their feed, the cattle would be fine from grazing. She made a note to talk with Marshal Thompson regarding the cattle when they went into Bisbee.

Wednesday, more than a week after Will's fever broke, Alice watched Joshua pour the last bit of coffee into his cup at the breakfast table and announced, "I'll be heading into Bisbee first thing after breakfast tomorrow."

Mark nearly whooped with excitement. "It's about time! I've practically been dyin' for Mrs. Turner's cinnamon cookies, 'specially since I didn't get any last time we went to town."

Joshua wordlessly spooned some sugar into his coffee and rested an elbow on the table as he sipped from the cup. Despite the lapse, his table manners had greatly improved since the first time he'd eaten with them.

Looking at Mark regretfully, Alice shook her head. "I'm afraid you can't go with me. I need you to stay here with Will. I think it's just too risky leaving him alone just yet, even for a few hours, given how bad off he was a week ago."

Mark's face fell with disappointment. "I can't go? But... it's been practically a whole month since we last went for anything besides church, and even then it's been two weeks since we been there." Clearly to his reckoning, church didn't really count as going to town.

Alice couldn't really blame him for that line of thinking. Listening to Archibald Newsome preach was about as much fun as getting teeth pulled. "I know, and I promise to make it up to you. I'll be sure to pick up some extra cookies from Mrs. Turner. She should have some fresh made, since I'll be going earlier in the day than we usually go. If she's already run out by the time I get there, then, well, I'll just have to make some myself."

Only slightly mollified, Mark nodded sulkily. "Ok... but I sure hope she has some. She makes the best cookies in all of the Arizona Territory... not that I don't like your cookies," he hurriedly added and looked toward Joshua. "Are you going to take the herd out by yourself then, that morning?"

He considered the question for a moment and lowered his mug to the table. "No, I reckon I need to make a trip on into Bisbee my own self, and pick up a few things I've been needin'. A new saddle for one, and some new shirts. A shaving kit." A wry grin appeared on his face as he looked at Alice. "Not that I don't appreciate you lettin' me borrow Dan's old shirts and Will's saddle, but I don't want to get a reputation as a freeloader. Hopefully in a few weeks, Will'll be wanting to use his saddle himself."

Her eyebrows arched upwards at his intent to get a saddle. They weren't cheap, and a good saddle could potentially cost more than the horse it went on. It was another reminder that there was more to this man than met the eye. And that reminded her… "Did you want me to cut your hair before you go into town?" she offered before eating a bit of scrambled eggs.

"No, thank you," Joshua politely declined, an indecipherable expression flickering across his face. He lowered his head and focused on spooning some more gravy over his biscuits. "I can just get it cut in town. There's a barber, ain't there?"

Alice studied him and figured he was probably reluctant to have her cut his hair because he wasn't sure how good or bad a job she'd do. "There is, but there's no sense in you spending two bits on a haircut when I can cut it. I cut Will and Mark's hair all the time, and I keep it very trim and even all over. And while we're on the subject, Mark, I'll go ahead and cut yours after you've had your bath tonight. If your hair gets much longer you'll be mistaken for a ragdoll," she said fondly, smiling at him.

Mark snorted and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. "I don't look like no ragdoll," he said defensively, and tugged at his bangs, gauging their length. "It ain't all _that_ long. Will's hair is longer."

"That it is, but I don't think he needs to be sitting up long enough for me to cut his hair just yet, so his trim will have to wait until he's feeling better." She turned her attention back to Joshua, saying, "Anyway, as I was saying, you really don't have to worry about me making a mess of it." A smile touched her lips and she added lightly, "I even I promise to leave the bowl in the cupboard when I get out the scissors."

He gave a slight shake of his head, "It ain't that I think you'll make a mess of it."

"Then what is it?" she asked curiously. Alice had no idea why he'd be so hesitant about getting a hair cut. Unless he was afraid of scissors or something, which seemed like a far-fetched notion at best.

Joshua didn't answer for a long moment and pushed food around on his plate. When he looked up to find both Alice and Mark staring at him, he relented, "All right. It's probably better that it be done before I go into town anyway. No sense in taking any chances with my 'disguise', though it ain't much of a disguise, I know."

Mark shook his head and eyed Joshua critically. "It's ok, I suppose. I dunno, shaving your beard all the way off and cuttin' your hair short does make you look pretty different. You don't look as old now. And I think you were fatter a couple of years ago too," he pointed out tactlessly.

Joshua laughed outright with genuine amusement. "Is that right?"

"Mark!" Alice chided immediately, though she had to bite the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile. "You know better than to say things like that."

"I'm sorry," Mark muttered after glancing at his mother. "I shouldn'ta said that, it wasn't nice."

Snorting, Joshua told him, "You got nothing to be sorry for. It's true, I was fatter back then. You should never apologize for telling the truth, even if it's a truth people don't want to hear."

That made Alice frown, mostly because Joshua was right, especially in light of the fact that she'd found the boy's words just as amusing as he had. "It's not that I want him to apologize for telling the truth. It's more that I don't want him saying everything that pops into his head."

Mark thought about that for a moment before saying, "I guess it's kinda like that one part of the Bible you like so much, where it says, there's 'a time to keep silent, and a time to speak.'"

"I reckon so," Joshua said.

They finished eating breakfast and Alice cleaned up the table while Mark and Joshua went to outside to work. She had preparations of her own to do before heading to town the following day, and spent the early part of the day mending and washing one of her two remaining dresses. Once again, she almost regretted burning the dress she had been wearing when Hollander attacked, but then again, the thought of wearing it again, even if she hadn't destroyed it, made her sick to her stomach. Hopefully the Turner Trading post would have some nice bolts of fabric so that she could make another dress. Possibly two, depending on how expensive the cloth was.

That afternoon after she and Will ate lunch, she drew some water from the well and heated it to give him a sponge bath. Initially, he insisted on trying to wash himself but it only took a minute or two before he fell back against the mattress gasping, his face pale with exertion. By the time she finished bathing him, helping him into a clean pair of underpants (much to his embarrassment) and changing out the damp sheets, he was utterly exhausted. She emptied out the small basin she'd washed him from and dragged the larger wash bin they used for bathing and set it in front of the fireplace. She'd start filling it up after supper.

When Joshua and Mark returned for dinner, William was still sound asleep. A sulky Mark was still not happy that he'd have to stay behind on Thursday with Will instead of going into Bisbee, and as a result was unusually reticent.

Joshua seemed lost in thought, and the small lines on his forehead indicated to Alice that he was worried about something.

"Do you think anyone will know?" she asked quietly.

Startled, he blinked up at her. "What?"

"I said, do you think anyone will know?" When he didn't answer right away, Alice clarified, "Who you are, I mean?"

He pondered her question and shrugged, "I don't know. I've been to bigger towns than Bisbee and no one's given me a second look."

Mark regarded him apprehensively. "What will you do if someone _does_ recognize you?"

The sudden image of a bloody gun battle taking place in the street, right in front of Turner's Trading Post popped into her mind, the end result Ben Wade aka Joshua Mason, propped up in the front window of the undertaker's business, dead and still and dressed in neat black suit. It was surprisingly upsetting.

"Smile pretty and go along quietly, without a fuss," Joshua replied with a wry grin. "It's worked out for Ben Wade the other three times he got caught, including the last time he was here in Bisbee."

His wording was strange, and she looked at him curiously for a moment. "I never noticed that you referred to Ben Wade in the third person."

"I did?" he said, frowning.

Alice nodded, not quite knowing whether she found his unconscious choice of words worrisome or amusing. She decided to go with the latter, and smiled slightly. "Yes, you did. Almost like you were talking about someone else, in fact."

"He is, kinda." Mark regarded Joshua seriously, "Cause he's Joshua Mason, not Ben Wade. Right?"

His expression was troubled as he stared at the boy, but Mark had already returned to eating, as though the discussion was over.

"Well," she said after a few moments of silence, a faint blush tingeing her cheeks. "I'll be drawing some water for a bath after supper, so if the front door is closed, well I'd appreciate you waiting till the door's open before coming in. After I'm done, you can have your turn, Mark." She cleared her throat and offered, "Joshua, if you'd like to take a bath as well, you're welcome to do so."

He shook his head, a hint of amusement returning to his face. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer, but I'm fine just takin' a dip in a creek or a river. For now anyway. I might be singin' a different tune come winter."

It wasn't until he said the words that Alice realized he had every intention of staying at the Evans ranch until winter at the very least. With any luck, Will would be completely recovered by the end of summer, but having the added security of another pair of helping hands around to lighten the work load definitely had its advantages. Still, that extra twenty dollars spent on his wages would make significant inroads into the dwindling amount of money they had left from Grayson Butterfield. If it came down to it though, she was reasonably certain she could sell off a couple of the cows that Castor and Pollux had bred to other ranches in the area, and still come out ahead at next year's spring calving.

And speaking of those wages… Alice eyed Joshua from under lowered eyelashes. She had a sneaking suspicion the man was working for far less than normal ranch hands worked for, but was honest enough to admit to herself that she had no idea what exactly fair pay would be for the type of labor he was doing. It wasn't like she and Dan had ever really discussed the costs of hiring on another hand, largely because they'd never done well enough at ranching while he was alive to have the extra money that made it an option. She made a mental note to ask someone in town, subtly of course, so she didn't overtly display her own ignorance on the subject.

After cleaning up from supper, she took a quick bath, mindful of the fact that any time spent dallying would mean the water's temperature would be that much colder when Mark took his turn. She gave him the token motherly reminder to 'wash behind his ears' and went outside to sit on the porch, brushing the tangles out of her thick blonde hair. Joshua had apparently taken her request for privacy to heart, he was nowhere to be seen. _That or he really is afraid of scissors,_ she thought to herself with amusement as she loosely tied her hair at the nape of her neck.

Mark finished his bath and dressed. Since the sun was already on the verge of setting, she turned up the lamps and placed them strategically around the sitting room so she would be able to see well enough to cut his hair. The boy carried one of the kitchen chairs and sat in it, right in front of the door. Alice wrapped a towel loosely around his shoulders and, armed with a comb and scissors, got to work.

Alice appeared to be almost finished with cutting Mark's hair by the time Joshua returned from taking his own bath down in the creek. He hadn't bothered with a towel and so his clothes were damp, clinging to his cool skin from where he'd just tossed them back on once he'd gotten out of the water.

Mark lifted his head slightly and took note of Joshua's appearance and wet hair. "I don't see how you can take a bath in that cold creek water," he stated, shuddering for added effect.

"You get used to it after a few minutes," Joshua responded with an easy shrug. That was mostly true, but even so, he hadn't lingered in the shallow pool of water any longer than he had to, scrubbing quickly with the bar of lye soap.

"Hold still," Alice ordered quietly as she brushed hair off of Mark's shoulder. The floor beneath the chair was littered with dark hair trimmings.

Joshua leaned against the doorjamb, watching them. He still was feeling somewhat ambivalent about letting Alice cut his hair though he recognized that it needed doing, and preferably before he went to town.

Those first couple of days after she'd unwittingly lit a fire in his loins merely by running her fingers through his hair, he had blamed his body's response the fact that it'd been months since he'd last bedded a woman. That was an itch easy enough to scratch, given the number of brothels and saloons that lined Bisbee's dusty streets. However, the notion of having what he strongly suspected would be a brief and scarcely satisfying ramble with one of the town whores came nowhere near to filling him the same sense of restless anticipation he was currently experiencing. All for something as simple as a haircut.

He reined in his thoughts and drove them in a safer direction. "Is William still asleep?"

"He woke up earlier while you two were out in the barn after supper, ate a potato and a bit of meat, but he was still pretty exhausted from the bath earlier," Alice said. She used her fingertips to straighten Mark's hair out before snipping off bits along the length of her fingers.

Mark peered at Joshua, asking, "Is she doin' a good job?" His small nose twitched as a small swath of hair landed on the very end of it, and he brushed it away.

Joshua grinned, "Oh yeah, she's doing a fine job. She oughta be chargin' you two bits for sure, for a haircut that good." She really had given the boy a good trim. His hair was cut very evenly all over, except around the ears and the nape of his neck, where the hair length was slightly shorter.

"I hope it's putting your mind at ease, at the very least. As you can see, there's not a bald spot to be found," Alice commented as she pulled the comb through Mark's hair one last time and moved around to stand in front of him. She lifted his chin up to look at him directly, searching for stray hairs that she might have missed. Finding none, she gave a satisfied nod and straightened up with a smile, pulling the towel off of his shoulders. "All done."

"Finally!" Hopping to his feet, Mark brushed past Joshua to go outside. He bent over double and began running his hands through his hair to dislodge any lose trimmings that remained.

"Next!" Alice said lightly, gesturing at the chair and giving Joshua a smile.

 _It's just a haircut,_ he firmly reminded himself as he stared at the chair for a moment. Nevermind that every other haircut he'd had in his life had either been self-administered, or given by a man who typically also doubled as the town's dentist. Exhaling slowly, he sat down gingerly in the chair and watched as she stepped out on the porch long enough to shake out the towel.

Mark had finished outside and stood in the doorway looking morosely at Joshua as Alice tucked the towel around his shoulders. "I guess if Will's asleep, that means you're not going to read more of the story of Oliver Twist?"

"Not tonight, no." He was almost surprised by how normal his voice sounded. _Maybe this won't be so bad after all._ No sooner had that thought entered his mind than Alice moved around to stand in front of him, facing him with the comb in one hand and the scissors in the other. She smelled incredible, like vanilla, and her breasts just happened to be at the exact level of his eyes. _Or not._

"I'm going to bed then," Mark groused, his temporary good humor ruined once again. He slipped around Alice and Joshua and went into his bedroom, not quite slamming the door, but shutting it with enough force that his displeasure was obvious.

Alice sighed patiently and shook her head, muttering, "Boys," as she began combing out Joshua's hair.

The sigh caused her chest to rise and fall and his johnson immediately stirred in his trousers, intent on doing some rising of its own. He shut his eyes to block out the distracting view and tried to will his body back under control by imagining the last man to cut his hair, a thin scholarly man with a goatee, was there doing it now. That wasn't working so good because his senses were telling him otherwise. The fingers lightly drifting through his hair definitely did not feel masculine and the scent of her vanilla soap, God—he wondered idly if she tasted as good as she smelled.

She was behind him now and he shifted uneasily in the chair to adjust his pants, pressing his hands firmly against his thighs.

"You'll need to hold still," Alice told him as she stretched out a lock of hair between her fingers, preparing to cut it.

This time when he spoke, his voice was strained and rough. "I'm trying," he said honestly.

She paused and released his hair. A moment later, her hands settled lightly on his tense shoulders and gave them a gentle and reassuring squeeze. "Relax. There's nothing to worry about, all right?"

Her quiet comforting words indicated to him that she had not picked up on the real reason for his tension, because if she had, she almost certainly _would_ have been worried, and possibly even frightened. He didn't trust himself to respond in words just yet so nodded his head in a quick, jerky motion and drew in a deep breath, trying to relax his tense muscles.

Alice ran the comb through his damp hair again before using her fingers to separate a swath on the top of his head, quietly snipping the excess length off with the scissors. "Your hair is surprisingly soft to the touch. I don't know what I was expecting, I guess I figured it'd feel coarser, for some reason," she confessed, and he could sense that she was almost embarrassed to have even mentioned it. She clipped his hair in silence for a few moments and added in a lighter tone, "I knew someone back in Boston who was afraid of mirrors."

A choked laugh escaped him before he could stop it as he realized she must think he was literally afraid of getting his hair cut. "That right?" he managed to say in an even tone.

"Mm-hmm. I really have no idea why or how that came about. Marie didn't even like to talk about it," she continued conversationally. "Whenever we went to new places, she'd have me go into the room first to make sure that there weren't any mirrors."

Her fingers brushing along his scalp and through his hair still felt absolutely incredible and he found it utterly ridiculous that that alone was enough to make a man his age feel like a randy teen on his first visit to a whorehouse. The inane topic was just distracting enough that he was able to keep his physical reaction to her close proximity in check, for the most part anyways. "Did she happen to be afraid of garlic and holy water as well?" he inquired casually.

A husky laugh escaped her. "No, actually, she wasn't. Not afraid of sunlight either, in case you were going to ask."

Joshua made a non committal sound and resisted the urge to twitch as feathers of hair brushed along his cheek as they fell. She worked quickly and efficiently, and he kept his eyes closed through the whole process, though he reveled in every touch. It wasn't long before she was lightly brushing hair off his face with her fingertips.

"All finished," she said from in front of him. He opened his eyes just as her hand lifted his chin up to look at him directly, the same way she had done with Mark, critically looking at her work. "Wait a minute," she ordered, quickly moving to his side and pulling a swath of hair at his temple taut with her fingertips once more before clipping it off with the scissors. "Almost missed a spot," she commented unnecessarily and ran the comb through his hair one last time before handing him her mirror so he could see the results.

He barely glanced at his reflection before handing it back to her with a carefully spoken, "Thank you."

Alice accepted the mirror and set it aside. "That wasn't so painful, was it?" she asked, giving him a warm smile as she cleaned and wrapped the scissors up in a cloth before stowing them in her sewing box.

"You have no idea," he said frankly, unclenching his fists' grip on his thighs before rising to his feet. He was still horny as hell but through sheer force of will had somehow managed to keep his prick from coming to complete attention.

"I'm very sorry that it took me so long to do," she looked up at him apologetically. "I honestly had no idea that you were so, well, nervous about getting your hair cut. I should have picked up on it sooner."

Joshua sighed patiently. "Alice, I ain't afraid of having my hair cut. Or of scissors either."

She blinked at that revelation. "Why have you been so tense then? Every time I've done so much as mention cutting your hair you go as taut as a bowstring."

"You really don't know, do you?" he said with amused disbelief. How could she not know that her very touch seemed to practically set him on fire for her?

Wide-eyed, Alice merely shook her head in confusion.

Joshua looked away from her, outside to where it was safe and she wasn't in arm's reach, smelling so good and looking even more beautiful for being all fresh-faced from her bath earlier. If he had a lick of sense, he'd already be out the door and heading toward the barn where there was no risk of him pulling her into his arms and showing her why he'd been nervous about having her touch him, reasons that had nothing to do with being afraid of scissors or haircuts.

He was on the verge of taking that step away from her when she reached out and touched his arm, drawing his gaze back to hers. "Joshua? Know what?" she asked worriedly, looking up at him with those green eyes. The greenest eyes he'd ever seen. What else could he do?

He kissed her.

He kissed her.

Alice and Dan had kissed innumerable times over the sixteen years they were together. Chaste kisses early on in their courtship had evolved into romantic and loving kisses as they were engaged and then married.

Never before had she been kissed like this, with such raw and open desire that it nearly took her breath away. She froze not with fear, but with surprise as his mouth moved over hers. It was a dangerous kiss, not because it was forceful or overpowering or even demanding, but it promised, promised fulfilled desires and needs and pleasure—yes, most definitely it promised the purist form of physical and carnal pleasure. As he let his lips and tongue play over her own, and as his hands drew her body against his lean and taut frame, she became clearly and intimately aware of exactly how much he wanted her and what he wanted to do to her, as if the kiss alone hadn't been a clear enough statement.

He raised his head and his eyes were dark with hunger for her, but tinged with something else—worry, she dimly realized, worry that she'd be afraid of him because he'd kissed her. "Now you understand why I was dancin' on a razor's edge about you cutting my hair?" he asked roughly when he saw her stillness was due to the unexpectedness of the kiss and not fear. "'Cause when you run your fingers through my hair, it feels so damn good it makes me want to do this." He kissed her again, briefly this time, but it still expressed the same wanton desire for her as the previous one had.

"Oh," Alice said in a small breathless voice when she could speak again, and the simple word seemed woefully ignorant. "I had no idea, well, that something as simple as a haircut could cause, ah, such a response." That 'response' was pressing rather insistently against her stomach at the moment.

"Neither did I," Joshua admitted ruefully, studying her. He seemed to be debating something and moved a hand from where it had settled on her hip up to her hair. Tugging the ribbon until it came undone, he freed her thick blonde hair and then ran his fingers through it, starting at her temple and trailing behind her right ear on down to the nape of her neck.

Her eyes drifted shut at how surprisingly wonderful that felt, soothing and sensual all at once. He drew his fingers through her hair a second time and she couldn't resist tilting her head slightly into his hand to prolong the sensation. When she opened her eyes again, Joshua was watching her intently, and she knew he was going to kiss her again.

She could have turned her face aside or lowered her chin—it wasn't like he was going to catch her completely off guard the way he had done a few minutes ago—but she remained perfectly still as his mouth moved inexorably closer to hers. This time when he kissed her, he used his lips to tease and cajole, playfully inviting and nibbling along her lower lip, kindling a spark deep inside her that she thought had died out long ago, a flicker of heat and yearning that spread like wildfire through her body, warming her skin and causing her heart to race. It was completely irresistible and she couldn't help but respond to this kiss, tentatively at first but then with increasing enthusiasm.

When her hands drifted up to his shoulders and she lightly ran her fingers through his short cropped hair, he pressed the full length of his body tightly against hers before withdrawing just enough to end the kiss. She stared up at him, shocked by how strong her own response had been and noting with bemusement that he seemed just as breathless as she was.

"I really need to leave," he said hoarsely, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers as he tried to calm down.

Alice nodded mutely, not trusting herself to speak just yet. She moved her hands from his shoulders to his muscular chest and then let them fall to her sides where they clenched in the coarse fabric of her dress.

He leaned forward again, not to kiss her this time, but to turn his face into her hair, inhaling deeply. Then he released his grip on her incrementally and with obvious reluctance, sliding his hands from the small of her back to both hips, then one hip, taking one of her hands in his to give it a final squeeze as he made himself back away. "Good night," he finally said, his eyes lingering on hers until he finally turned and walked out the door toward the barn.

"Good night," she whispered, watching until he disappeared into the barn.

That night, she slept soundly and without nightmares for the first time in weeks. She woke up before dawn and as usual, checked on Will first thing after climbing out of bed. At some point he had roused himself enough to use the bedpan, but for now he was sleeping soundly. Mark was always slower to rise than she was, so Alice had a bit of time to herself. She washed her face, put on the dress she had washed the previous day, brushed her hair out until it seemed spun clear through with pale gold, and almost convinced herself that she was making an extra effort to look her best because she always did so before going into Bisbee, not because of a certain ranch hand.

Mark woke up just as she started making buttermilk biscuits. After dressing, he picked up the pail and went out to the barn to milk Pansy. When he returned about fifteen minutes later with the bucket of fresh milk, he set it down on the table and asked, "Where'd Joshua go?"

Alice finished putting the biscuits in the oven and turned toward her son, wondering if she'd misheard him. "What?"

"I said, 'Where'd Joshua go?'" Mark repeated, explaining, "He ain't in the barn, and Dawson's gone."

She stared at him, nonplussed. "Maybe he's just out checking the fences or something," she suggested.

Mark shook his head, "He always waits to do that until right before we ride out with the herd in the morning. That's how we been doin' it since you hired him on. I milk Pansy, and then he comes down the ladder and checks the horses and Castor and Pollux in the barn, and then we walk back to the house together to eat breakfast… and then we do the feeding and the watering and such…" he ticked through the routine he'd shared with Joshua since Will had been injured on his fingers. "Then we saddle up the horses and we check the fences together, then we take the cows out on the range. We been doin' it exactly like that for like a month now, I don't see as he would be changing it all of a sudden. Besides, even if he was checking the fence, I'd still be able to see him from the barn. The corral ain't all _that_ big."

Worriedly chewing the ragged edge of her thumbnail, Alice asked, "And he didn't mention anything to you? About having to go anywhere? Maybe to Hollander's ranch?"

"Why would he have waited until now?" Mark eyed her and asked suspiciously, "Did you two have another 'discussion'?"

Alice flushed with embarrassment and evaded her son's gaze. "A discussion?" she asked faintly. Talking had been the furthest thing from her mind when she'd been with Joshua the previous night.

"Yeah, a 'discussion'. You know, like a couple of weeks ago when you two had an argument, Joshua said you had a 'discussion'. Did you two argue again?"

Clearing her throat, she gave a slight shake of her head, though her cheeks were still reddened. "No, we didn't argue." In fact, what they had been doing was pretty much the exact opposite. "And he didn't say anything about…" Her words faded as she recalled what his exact words had been before he'd left. _I really need to leave._ At the time, she'd thought he had been talking about leaving before he went further with the kiss than she was willing to go.

"Ma? He didn't say anything about what?" Mark waited expectantly for her to finish the sentence.

She paused and finished her sentence slowly, "About leaving. I was saying, he didn't say anything about leaving…" Only, maybe he had, and she'd just been too distracted by him—by his kisses—to have paid attention. Joshua'd made it sound like he intended staying through winter last night during dinner, but maybe he'd changed his mind after what happened later. Maybe he never intended on staying at all. But surely, after everything they had endured together in the past two weeks, he'd have at least told them if he was leaving.

 _Right, because a man who is, by his own admission, a thief, murderer, and oh let's not forget 'rotten as hell', would certainly have the common decency to let you know before he rode off into the sunset,_ the bitter thought popped into her mind.

Ignoring that acerbic little voice, Alice refused to believe that Joshua would just vanish without so much as a by your leave, especially after what had happened last night. She just couldn't see him as being that cowardly. "Mark, why don't you go check the loft to see if he's left some kind of note or something, and I'll finish making breakfast."

Mark nodded and hurried back to the barn, and Alice turned her attention to cooking breakfast again. She had opened the oven to check on the biscuits when he returned, worried, breathless, holding a few scraps of paper in his hand.

"He left a note?" she asked hopefully, though it looked to be an awfully long note.

He seemed very upset as he shook his head, "Not a note, but I found these…" Mark handed her some pages that had apparently been torn from some of Will's dime magazines.

The pieces of papers had no words written on them other than the printed words from the magazines themselves. Instead, nearly every available inch of space was filled with sketches, drawings of Mark proudly riding Castor, resting his chin on a fence railing, leaning against a shovel, of Will sleeping, laughing, and even one of his face contorted in pain with his hand over his bullet wound. There were also a few of Alice herself, standing at the stove cooking, sitting in the rocking chair mending… The largest drawing was of her, apparently when she'd been sitting at the kitchen table. She had a slight smile on her face and was resting her chin on her folded hand, as though listening to someone speak.

They were beautiful and so personal, Alice almost felt like she'd been caught reading someone's diary after she finished looking through them. Her throat was tight as she gave them back to Mark, "Put these back exactly where you found them, so he can find them when he comes back."

"I don't think he's gonna come back," Mark was on the verge of tears. "He took his gun."

That made no sense at all to her and Alice gave her son an odd look, "Of course he took his gun… he always takes his gun with him when he leaves the ranch."

"Not _that_ gun," he said with a grimace. "I mean the Hand of God… that black gun he, I mean that Ben Wade used, the one with the curse on it. Joshua took it with him." Mark looked at her, heartbroken, "Do you reckon he's gonna go back to being Ben Wade now? Why else would he have left and taken the Hand of God with him, unless he didn't mean to come back?"

Alice enfolded Mark in her arms and could just barely rest her cheek on the top of his head—when had he gotten so tall? He hugged her back tightly, sniffling, as she reassured him, "He'll be back," and could only pray she was telling him the truth. Drawing back a little, she smiled at him tenderly, "You better go put those papers back where you found them before he figures out you've been looking through his stuff."

Mark wiped his nose and his voice was subdued as he replied, "'Kay, but I think he's gonna know anyway…I messed his sleeping area pretty bad lookin' through it." That last bit was added with a slightly mischievous grin that indicated a return to his usual optimism.

"Well, do your best," she said and watched as he ran out the door and back to the barn with the sketches clutched in his hand.

Joshua still wasn't back by the time they finished cleaning up after breakfast. Will woke briefly and ate a biscuit before falling back asleep, still feeling the effects of his bath the previous day. With any luck, he'd sleep the entire time she was gone. He'd probably be fine with Mark to care for him, but even so, she didn't want to be away from him any longer than she had to.

Alice was standing on the porch watching Mark hitch Nathan up to the wagon when Joshua finally returned, riding in from the southwest. Tucking her reticule under her arm, she shifted her bonnet from one hand to the other and walked over to stand beside her son as, together, they watched his approach.

"Look at Dawson," Mark said with quiet concern, and even across the distance between them, it was immediately obvious that wherever Joshua had been during the night, it had not been a short or easy ride. The black horse's body was lathered with sweat and when it came to a stop in front of the house, the animal lowered its head, sides heaving with exhaustion.

Joshua dismounted, patting his mount almost apologetically for what he'd been put through the last few hours, and shook some of the dirt and dried mud off of his duster. "I thought I'd be back before breakfast," he said by way of explanation, and began to remove Dawson's saddle.

Mark stepped forward to hold the reins and rubbed the horse's poll. "Where'd you go? It looks like you rode him all the way to Mexico and back," he commented, peering at the animal.

"Close," he replied, but volunteered no further information. Heaving the saddle and bags up into his arms, he ordered Mark, "Walk him out before letting him drink, so he doesn't colic. He'll need to rest all day after that ride." The boy nodded and began to lead Dawson around in a slow and relaxing walk. When he was a short distance away, Joshua looked at Alice directly for the first time, studying her carefully schooled expression before he spoke, "Let me take these to the barn, and I'll go with you into Bisbee, if you'll let me." Without waiting for an answer, he headed off toward the barn with the tack.

His guarded choice of words indicated to Alice that he was uncertain as to how well received his offer to accompany her would be.

Alice thoughtfully considered how she felt about what had happened last night as she tied on her bonnet. She definitely wasn't angry at him for kissing her, though she did wonder if she should have been. Nor was she frightened, well, not really, anyway. Not afraid of _him_ , though perhaps she was alarmed by the intensity of her own response.

The drought of '86 and the hard years preceding it had dried up more than the land, the extraordinarily difficult times had caused the ardor that had once existed in her marriage to Dan to wither away to the extent that the few moments of intimacy they shared had seemed contrived and forced, like going through a routine, not because it actually meant something but because that's what married people did. Back then, Alice had wondered if she had reached the age at which she was beyond the point of enjoying the physical aspects of her relationship with her husband.

 _So much for that notion,_ was Alice's droll thought as she recalled how eagerly she had returned Joshua's kiss. Restless and in need of something to do to occupy herself, she double checked the buckles and straps hitching Nathan to the wagon.

Joshua appeared a few moments later, and did the same on the opposite side. Finally he looked at her from across the chestnut horse's back and asked solemnly, "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," she said simply and walked around to the side of the wagon, Joshua following a few steps behind. He politely offered her a helping hand and after a moment's hesitation, she took it, using it for support as she pulled herself up into the vehicle and settled onto the seat. He held her hand no longer than absolutely necessarily and had walked around to the other side to climb in when she quietly said without looking at him, "Since you were in such a hurry to get back, I doubt you had time to eat. There're some biscuits left from breakfast in the breadbox, and some sausage wrapped in a towel next to it."

She could sense she had surprised him by saying that, but didn't know why. He gave her a quick nod and went into the house, returning with a biscuit in one hand and stuffing a piece of sausage into his mouth with the other. A few minutes later, they were on their way to Bisbee, and Alice turned to give Mark a smile and wave, before facing forward again.

The wagon rattled along and Joshua quickly finished off his biscuit. Alice reached under the seat and pulled out one of the canteens there, twisting off the top to take a quick sip of the tepid water before offering it to him. He drank more deeply and returned it.

She put the lid back on and had just put the canteen back under the seat when he gave her a sidelong glance and said conversationally, "That's a pretty bonnet."

"Thank you," she replied evenly and made a minute adjustment to the flowered hat, tucking a wisp of hair back under it.

"I gotta say though, I wish you'd wear your hair down more often."

Alice immediately thought of how good it had felt when he'd been running his fingers through her hair the previous night and shivered, carefully saying, "I don't think that's such a good idea."

Joshua thought that over and nodded. "You're probably right." He clucked his tongue at Nathan, urging the sorrel gelding to pick up his pace and said, "You thought I left."

"You said you needed to leave," Alice said, staring straight forward at the dusty road ahead. When he frowned at her, she clarified, "Last night. Right after you…" Pausing and not quite willing to put what they had been doing into words just yet, she cleared her throat and tried to ignore the flush rising in her cheeks as she continued, "Before you left. You said, 'I really need to leave'."

Exasperated, Joshua said, "I meant I really needed to leave before we ended up doing something we might have regretted later." He thoughtfully considered his words and corrected himself, "Well, something _you_ might have regretted later, cause I sure as hell wouldn't have regretted a damn thing."

She made a non committal sound and turned her face away from him to hide her blush. Would she have regretted it? Definitely not at the time, but perhaps later… she really wasn't sure.

"I said during supper that I'd be staying until winter at the very least," he reminded her.

"You did, I remember you saying that," Alice nodded agreeably. "But you were gone this morning and you'd said that you needed to leave last night, and Mark said you'd taken your 'Hand of God'."

He immediately shook his head, bleakly stating, "Not _my_ Hand of God. I mean, not Joshua Mason's. It's Ben Wade's gun."

She turned to look at him, noting the grim set of his face. "You really believe that gun is cursed?" It was hard for her to believe that a man of his intelligence would believe in such drivel as a cursed gun.

"What if it is?" he demanded. "What if the only person that can touch that thing is Ben Wade? Mark's said, 'If you're Joshua Mason, then you ain't Ben Wade no more', and that's true, I ain't gone by that name in more than a year now. I been walkin' a straight and narrow path—well, for the most part anyway—as Joshua Mason. And if I am Joshua Mason, don't that make me just as likely to get cursed as anyone else? I figured there weren't no sense in taking any chances with it, especially if I'm staying on your ranch." He hesitated and said more quietly, "Your family's been through enough these past couple of years. Damned if you haven't been through hell just in these past two weeks alone. If the Hand of God _is_ cursed, then my taking it away took away the chances of you, of all of us being affected by the curse. And if it's not cursed, well then it being gone means there's one less link to my past."

"I see." Alice pursed her lips at the illogical turn this conversation had taken. "What did you do with it? Throw it in a river?"

"I put it in a hidey-hole at Miller's Peak."

"'A hidey-hole at Miller's peak'," she echoed incredulously. Well that explained why his horse had been so exhausted. That was nearly twenty-five miles away, and a good bit of that journey would be across rough terrain. "You went all the way down to Miller's Peak, into the heart of Apache territory, just to hide a gun?"

"No," Joshua corrected, "I went all the way down to Miller's Peak and into Apache land because I needed some money, and that's where I have some stashed. I took the gun with me, since I was going anyway, and left it there."

"You mean, that's where Ben Wade has money stashed," she pointed out, arching an eyebrow at him. "Because Joshua Mason is just a simple ranch hand, and would never have so much money that he'd need to 'stash it' in Apache country." Alice had to fight back a smile at her words. Joshua Mason was anything but 'simple'.

Amused, he revised his story, "No, you're right, he wouldn't. However, since Ben Wade is dead, and has been dead for nigh on a year now, and since Joshua Mason just _happens_ to be the only person to know where the late Ben Wade's stash is hidden, he figured ol' Ben wouldn't mind if he took out enough money to buy some necessities, like a saddle and clothes and the like."

The wagon rattled its way on down the road toward Bisbee.

Alice finally said and stared down at her hands, carefully folded together in her lap. "I would have given you money for a saddle and a couple of shirts, if you'd have asked." And she would have, too, even though it would have used up most of the money they had saved.

Joshua silently considered her words, flipping the reins lightly along Nathan's back. "Would you let me work at your ranch for free?" he abruptly asked, giving her a sidelong glance.

"No," she immediately replied without thinking.

Unsurprised by her response, a low laugh escaped him. "So, it's all right if I'm the one asking you for help with money, even though you know full well I never would. But if I try to help you out by working without pay, so you can keep your money and use it on things you actually need, well, that dog just won't hunt."

She refused to rise to his bait and crossed her arms while he looked on in amusement. There was a difference between the two, though she couldn't really explain what that difference was. Other than her own stubbornness, of course.

After a few moments, Joshua asked a question that had apparently been bothering him since his return, "Do you really think I have just up and left last night without letting you know, or saying goodbye? Especially after what happened between us?"

Alice blushed furiously and her answer was longer in coming. "No," she said slowly. "I admit I was concerned when Mark said you were gone, but when he found your drawings…" He straightened with surprise and she slanted a guilty look at him, explaining, "He was looking to see if you'd left a note in with your things and found them. Anyway, I just couldn't imagine you leaving all of those beautiful sketches behind."

He didn't say anything and concentrated on driving the wagon.

Against her better judgement, she added, "And… I just can't see you as the cowardly type." Joshua regarded her inquisitively and she shrugged lightly, "I mean that in the sense of, I didn't think that you were so much of a coward that sharing a few small kisses would be enough to scare you off."

"'A few small kisses'," he echoed and seemed deeply offended by her blasé dismissal. He muttered something under his breath that the rackety noise of the wagon made indistinct.

Alice had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, but counted herself lucky that Bisbee was just now coming into range.

The rest of the short distance to town passed in companionable silence, but as he guided the wagon down Main Street, she couldn't help but notice that some of Bisbee's residents stopped and stared at her when they passed. She stiffened, remembering Deputy Young's violent reaction at the sight of her neck and what Hollander had done to it.

 _Maybe they can still see the bruises,_ she thought with dismay and unconsciously started to lift her hand to cover her neck when Joshua calmly said out of the side of his mouth for her ears only, "The bruises are gone, Alice, keep your hand in your lap."

She turned the movement of her upraised hand into another bonnet adjustment and carefully lowered it back to her lap. It felt like her face was on fire with embarrassement. "Why are they all staring at me, then?" she asked anxiously, though it seemed like Joshua was being regarded with equal interest.

"Because one of the wealthiest men in a hundred mile radius is dead," he told her quietly, drawing up on the reins enough that Nathan slowed to an easy walk. "Your son told the Marshal himself that he's the one who pulled the trigger because Glen Hollander used his fists on you, and nearly died himself as a result. One of Hollander's own ranch hands doctored Will and removed the bullet, seemed to have some kind of knowledge of how the fire at the Bar-H ranch started, and was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs when the Marshal and his deputy came a-callin'. Why do you think they're staring at us? The rumor mill's been feedin' itself for two weeks. They're probably about to die of curiosity."

Alice took a deep breath at his words and nodded. She should have expected something like this to happen—Joshua clearly had. _This was why he nearly rode Dawson into the ground, trying to get back before I left for Bisbee,_ she abruptly realized. He hadn't wanted her to face this alone, even though he knew he risked drawing more attention to himself in the process. A surge of some indescribably complex emotion welled up in her chest as she looked at him. "Thank you. For coming with me, I mean," she murmured, lowering her eyes.

Joshua slanted her wry grin as he drew the wagon to a stop outside of Turner's Trading Post. "I had a powerful need for new shirts," he reminded her casually and set the reins down before hopping over the edge of the vehicle to the ground. Then he walked around to the opposite side to help her down.

She took his offered hand without hesitation this time and looked apprehensively into his eyes as she climbed out of the wagon. "You're not going to leave me, are you?" she asked under her breath.

Something softened in Joshua's blue-green eyes and he promised, "I ain't goin' anywhere."

Joshua watched Alice inhale deeply again and arrange her expression to polite calm before stepping away from the wagon and walking up onto the boardwalk that led into the trading post. He lingered behind long enough to give their gelding a cursory examination before following her inside, giving an older woman who passed an amiable smile and tip of the hat.

It was quiet in the store and Turner, the old man who owned the store, was standing at the counter beside a frumpy woman with a round face that was probably his wife. As soon as the woman saw Alice, an expression of genuine relief appeared on her face and she rounded the counter.

"Alice," Mrs. Turner said affectionately, and immediately enveloped her in a warm hug. "I'm so glad you're feeling better. And how's your William doing? Hopefully the fact that he's on his feet means he's well on his way to recovery." Apparently Marshal Thompson and Deputy Young had provided a full account of their visit to the Evans ranch to the townsfolk of Bisbee.

"Ethel, it's good to see you again, and you too, Jacob." Alice smiled fondly at the woman and her husband. "William's doing much better, thank you very much. He's having to spend more time in bed resting than he'd probably like, but he did tell me that he is enjoying that book you gave him, and to thank you for the loan."

"Pish-posh," Ethel waved a hand dismissively, giving Alice another one armed hug. "I'm just glad he's doing all right, and I hear your new cow hand is the one to thank for that?" The woman peered at Joshua curiously and he walked over, taking off his hat as he greeted the woman.

"He is indeed." Mr. Turner came around the counter to stand beside his wife as Alice gracefully introduced Joshua to them, "Joshua Mason, meet Jacob and Ethel Turner. Joshua was a friend of Dan's."

"Is that right?" Jacob said, adjusting his spectacles and staring up at Joshua with no small amount of suspicion.

Joshua shook the other man's hand, murmuring, "Pleasure to meet both of you."

Ethel beamed up at him, "God bless you for helping take care of William. He's a good boy, always so polite, and he takes such good care of the books I lend him." She looked beyond Alice and asked, "Where's Mark today?"

Alice informed her with a wry smile, "He's staying at home and taking care of William today, and quite sulky about it since it means he isn't here to buy some of your cookies."

"Well it's his lucky day," Ethel declared, bustling back over to the counter and picking up one of the cookie jars on the counter. "I just got these out of the oven about fifteen minutes ago. I'll wrap a few of them up for you to take with you. And it's been weeks since you were in here last, I'm sure you've got some other supplies you'll be needing to buy as well."

"Indeed I do," Alice replied and foraged in her reticule for the list of supplies she needed to buy and offered it to Mr. Turner.

He peered down at the paper for a moment and nodded agreeably, "I'll start getting these together for you right away."

Joshua spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes carrying grain, sugar, flour, salt, coffee and the other things Alice had on her list out to the wagon while Ethel and Alice perused through the assortment of cotton and linen fabric for cloth that could be made into dresses suitable for ranch life. In the end, two bolts of flowered cloth were added to the pile of goods. Despite the apparent interest of the townsfolk when he and Alice had driven into town, everyone left them to their own business while they were in the store, though he did see a few curious faces peering through the dust-covered front window.

Mr. Turner bent over, tallying up the purchases on a scrap of paper, and straightened, announcing, "That'll be six dollars and two bits."

Alice frowned slightly, "Are you sure you did the math correctly, Mr. Turner? I'm getting nearly twice as many supplies as I bought the last time I was in here, and that cost was around five dollars, as I recall."

The old man reddened slightly and darted a quick glance past Alice to Joshua, who was standing just behind her as he admitted, "A lot of the prices of goods in town have fallen these past two weeks since Mr. Hollander's death."

Joshua was unsurprised by Turner's guilty admission. A greedy man like Glen Hollander almost certainly had his hands in more than just land and deeds. Apparently he'd used his power and influence against the shopkeepers in town, likely by charging some kind of property or protection tax so they could stay in business, and the merchants had been forced to raise the prices on staple goods as a result.

Ethel nodded, grimly telling Alice, "He was an evil, evil man. I tell you, most people in Bisbee relieved he's dead and gone. Your William's liable to be given a hero's welcome when he's well enough to come to town. All the people that horrid man hurt or ruined over the years…" She clucked her tongue, shaking her head. "There's scarcely a family that's lived here in Bisbee for any length of time that didn't feel his boot pressing against their neck at one time or another. Glen Hollander got exactly what he deserved, and now he's facing the Lord's justice."

Clearing his throat, Mr. Turner said, "All right, that's enough gossip for one day, Ethel. As I was saying, six dollars and two bits."

His wife shook her head, waving a hand. "I apologize. Land o'Goshen, sometimes I do go on, don't I? Well, I've got more cookies I need to bake for this afternoon anyway. It was good seeing you again, dear," Ethel told Alice and gave her another quick hug before heading outside. Of course, as soon as she stepped off the boardwalk, three of the townswomen immediately converged upon the frumpy woman, no doubt eager for a gossip update.

Joshua took the opportunity to meander off so he could browse through the trading post's selection of men's clothing. He really did need at least two more shirts and one more pair of pants as well as a shaving kit. Dan's clothing fit him fine, sure, but it just didn't seem right to be wearing the dead man's clothes and coveting his wife at the same time.

Alice carefully counted out the money and gave it to Jacob with a smile. "Thank you."

The shopkeeper tucked the bills and coins into his money drawer and casually asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "So how's Mr. Mason working out as a cow hand for you?"

While his instinct for danger had saved his life on more than one occasion, Joshua also possessed one other important characteristic that had extended his longevity—unwholesomely good hearing. He just barely overheard the old man's question as he pulled out a long-sleeved burgundy shirt and stretched it out to see if it'd fit him or not.

"Very well, actually," he overheard Alice murmur. "He works hard and gets along wonderfully with both of the boys, and there's no doubt in my mind that he's the reason William's alive today." She hesitated and asked, "I hope you don't mind my asking something, but when I hired Mr. Mason on, I wasn't sure what amount was appropriate wages for the labor he's doing."

Joshua grimaced at her question. The woman was too stubborn for her own good. No doubt she'd insist on paying him the going rate of thirty-five dollars, even though he doubted she could afford it. He irritably selected another navy blue shirt similar in size to the first and loosely folded them together before inspecting the pants.

"Why, what're you paying him?" Turner inquired, looking across the store at Joshua.

"Twenty dollars a month."

Joshua looked up right as Jacob blinked at the price Alice quoted. "Hm. And does that include meals and board?"

Alice nodded, whispering, "Yes, but he sleeps in the barn."

"Then twenty dollars sounds about right to me," Turner told her quietly, to Joshua's surprise. In a normal voice, he asked, "Will that be all for you today, Mrs. Evans? Oh! I almost forgot…" He bent down and withdrew a stack of books and magazines tied together with cord. "For William. I'm sure he'll be wanting them, if he's going to be bedridden for any length of time."

"Thank you so much for everything, Mr. Turner," Alice said, smiling at the old shopkeeper and tucked the books under an arm as she walked toward Joshua. "Any luck?' she asked, gesturing at the men's clothing.

"Yes, I found two shirts that I think will fit me, the pants though…" Joshua shook his head dubiously.

She flipped through the trousers before settling on a pair that were the deep rich brown of roasted coffee beans and held them up, eyeing them critically. "These are probably a bit big on you, but would be easy enough to hem. I need to go across the street to the bank and see what's happening with Mr. Hollander's land. And I also need to go talk to Marshal Thompson about the cattle that have been coming onto our land."

He tensed at mention of the lawman. Thompson and his deputy had seemed like hard working men and Alice seemed to like both of them, but that didn't mean Joshua wanted to be spending any more time in their presence than he had to. Still, if she needed him to go, he had promised her he wouldn't leave her side.

"I know you've got a few other things you wanted to buy, so I'll head on to the bank and the Marshal's office and you can finish up here," she said, giving him a significant look that indicated she was aware of his reluctance to go to the law office.

"You sure?" Joshua asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," Alice said firmly and gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll see you in a little while. Goodbye, Mr. Turner," she called and made her way out the door.

Joshua gathered up the clothing to carry to the sales counter. He paused at the front window to watch as Alice walked across the dusty street before disappearing into the bank. When she was out of sight, he continued until he was standing opposite Jacob Turner, who was now leaning against the counter and reading the Bisbee newspaper. "You got shaving kits?"

Turner wordlessly pointed at the back wall of the room, and Joshua randomly selected a leather-wrapped kit and added it to the clothing he'd selected. "I think this will do it for me," he said and looked at the shopkeeper.

"Alice Evans is a far cry from your usual kind of woman, isn't she, Mr. Wade?" Mr. Turner commented mildly and lowered the paper to stare at Joshua from over the rim of his spectacles.

The former outlaw stiffened and his eyes were flinty as he rested his hands on the counter. "My name is Joshua Mason," he said coldly.

Jacob sniffed disdainfully, folding the newspaper and resting it on the counter. "I know who you are, and I know what your name is. I used to have a store back in Abilene before I moved here in '80. Saw you shoot a man dead about eight years ago… Daryl Boles. He was a loud-mouthed drunk and a braggart that fancied himself quite the card sharp, as I recall. You caught him cheating and killed him—right in front of his older brother."

That was a killing that Joshua would never forget, not just because of the man he'd killed, but because of what his brother Walter Boles had done to him six years later, stringing him up and pressing rods of electrified metal up to his chest.

The two men stared at each other across the counter and Jacob said, "It was you that killed Glen Hollander, wasn't it? Atkins too?"

Exhaling slowly, Joshua said, "Yes, I killed them. Will Evans also shot Hollander, it's true, but he was dead before Will's gun had even cleared the holster. I burned down the barn with Atkins in it—though not until I set all the horses free first." His lips twisted at the irony of showing more concern for the lives of the horses than the man.

Turner grunted, unsurprised by the confession. "Those two men caused this town more hardship and heartache during the six years that I've been here that can even be put to words." He stared out the window and closed his eyes for a brief moment. "A few years back, when I got behind on paying him a 'business tax'. I paid the tax, I got to stay in business. Anyway, when I got behind, they went after Ethel…" The shopkeeper suddenly looked ten years older. "She was lucky though… hit her head. She doesn't remember any of it."

Joshua didn't know what to say.

"Anyway," Jacob gave a slight shake of his head and continued, "Marshal Thompson isn't going even going to bother Judge Watkins with this, as it seems to be a clear case of self defense, what with Will being shot up and all."

"That's good to hear," Joshua said, though he'd figured as much from what Thompson had said that day he came out to the Evans ranch.

"Alice and her boys all know who you are?" Turner asked, one eyebrow raised inquisitively. When Joshua nodded, the old man shook his head with amazement. "Don't that beat all." The two men stared at each other for another long moment accessingly.

"So, how much for these?" Joshua finally asked, gesturing at the items on the counter.

"Three dollars even," the old man responded and watched as Joshua reached into his pocket and pulled off three bills off a roll of money, laying them on the counter. Turner added the money to the cash drawer and began wrapping the shirt and pants in paper.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner." Joshua leaned against the counter and peered out the large window, trying to see some of the business names on the opposite side of the street. "Do you happen to know where I could find a good saddle? Mine went up in flames when the barn at the Bar-H burned to the ground."

"Yep, Douglas Tack," Jacob replied, pointing. "You can see it just down the road, across from the Marshal's office."

It only took Turner a few minutes to finish wrapping the clothes and Joshua had just tucked the packages under his arm when the old shopkeeper spoke again. "Mr. Mason?" He picked up his newspaper and gave it a quick shake before opening it up, not even looking at Joshua as he spoke conversationally. "Alice Evans is a fine woman. That family's suffered through a lot over the past few years. I'm as grateful as anyone else that Glen Hollander is dead, regardless of who killed him…but don't think I won't take a horsewhip to you if I find out you've done anything to hurt her, or her boys, for that matter."

"Yes sir," Joshua said with amused respect and walked out of the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note before my Trivia. I know from personal experience that rape victims deal with their ordeals in a variety of ways and that there is no set time frame to begin the healing process. Please do not criticize me for the path I have chosen for Alice to take. 
> 
> Trivia:  
> Due to the content of this chapter, I found myself doing a few searches on the internet that would commonly be used to refer to male genitalia and sex circa 1886, which is the setting of this story. Did you know that the word 'fuck' dates back to the 1500s? That 'shag' (from the late 1700s) meant to have sex long before Austin Powers ever used the word. The word 'pecker' didn't refer to a penis until the early 1900s, much to my surprise, I actually used it in chapter 1 in reference to Bill Gardner. Oops. And John Thomas and Johnson, both of which I had thought were specific to the Joss Whedon Firefly universe, were commonly used phrases when referring to the penis back around Civil War times.  
> Regarding the Alice/Joshua conversation about mirrors, garlic, sunlight and holy water. While most of us automatically think of Bram Stoker's Dracula (which was written in 1897) when using those characteristics all at once, in 1886 (the setting of this story) it was believed that any evil creature, be it a vampire or demon or otherwise, was afraid of mirrors, because it would show that they lacked a soul. Similarly, garlic was known to be an antibacterial and antiseptic agent and people would hang it around their necks (and in some cases around the necks of their livestock) to warn off demons and evil spirits. Holy water is obvious, duh, used to fight evil. And evil creatures in general were thought to avoid sunlight, because it was believed the sun had the power of purification and thus would destroy evil.  
> In the 1800s, people typically only had 2-3 changes of clothes, and since Wash Day (Monday) only came once a week, they would wear the same clothes for couple of days during the week. It was weird to think that Joshua would go take a bath in the creek, then immediately his dirty clothes back on, instead of having clean clothes laid out for him the way we do now.  
> I'll freely admit my ignorance. I had a lot of trouble finding maps on the internet that showed the exact range of Apache territory, or said when Miller's Peak got its name. So if Apache territory really didn't include Miller's peak during 1886, oops. My bad.  
> A healthy and well-trained horse like Dawson could potentially go 60-80 miles in 8 hours, depending on the terrain. However, it would require a good period of rest afterwards to recover.


	12. Temperence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will recovers from his injuries, Joshua gives Alice an unexpected gift, and naturally, she assumes the worst.

By the time Joshua emerged from Douglas' Tack with his new saddle, Alice had already finished her business at the bank and Marshal Thompson's law office. She was standing beside the loaded wagon with her back toward him as she engaged in conversation with a neatly dressed man in a bowler hat.

Alice must have seen the man's eyes shift beyond her to Joshua, because she turned and nodded, acknowledging his arrival before saying, "Mr. Brody, it was very nice to have met you, but I really should be getting on back to the ranch. I don't want to leave William alone any longer than I have to." After a moment's hesitation she added politely, "Have you had the chance to meet my ranch hand, Joshua Mason?"

Brody shook his head, "I am certain I have not. Silas Brody, Solicitor, at your service." He gave Joshua an assessing look and didn't bother holding out his hand as he observed the other man's rough appearance and mud-stained clothing.

Joshua was amused by the dapper man's snub and responded in an exaggerated drawl, "Pleased ta meetcha," as he heaved his saddle into the back of the wagon on top of the other supplies. "Missus Evans, if'n you's done finished yer bizness, we can git a move on, if'n you is ready ta git goin'."

A hint of exasperated mirth in her eyes, Alice's lips twitched as she said, "Yes, I'm ready."

Having already turned dismissively away from Joshua, Brody smiled and tipped his hat gallantly at Alice, "Mrs. Evans, I'm delighted to have finally had the pleasure of meeting you. I hope you will do me the honor of allowing me to call on you? Or perhaps we could partake of lunch together the next time you come to town?"

The notion of Brody calling on Alice and trying to win her favor wasn't nearly so amusing to Joshua as being snubbed had been. He busied himself with checking Nathan's harness as he bit back irritation and another emotion that he rarely felt but recognized nonetheless—jealousy.

Alice immediately demurred. "I'm sorry, Mr. Brody, but I really don't get into Bisbee all that much. Again, it was a pleasure to meet you though." She turned to climb into the wagon, and ever the gentleman, Silas Brody offered her a helping hand into the wagon.

Joshua wordlessly climbed in on the opposite side and picked up the reins. The relief he felt when she'd declined the solicitor's offer so quickly had been nearly as annoying as his reaction to the request in the first place. They hadn't even been in Bisbee for more than two hours and he was already ready to get back home. He had figured on Alice getting attention when they came to town, but hadn't reckoned on it being of this sort, though in retrospect, he should have anticipated it. Alice Evans was a beautiful woman—of course she'd draw the eye of any red-blooded man every time she came to town.

Alice settled beside him on the bench seat, and Brody still hadn't released her hand. He lowered his head over it, brushing a kiss to the back and said, "'Til we meet again," grinning up at her.

Even then, he seemed reluctant to loosen his grip on her, and Alice frowned at him as she gave her hand a tug. "Excuse me."

Joshua could sense her growing alarm and his fingers twitched with the desire to shoot the fancily dressed idiot and be done with it. He restrained himself though, and merely said, "Brody."

Upon hearing his name, the elegantly dressed man's gaze flickered from Alice to Joshua. Brody paled visibly at the menacing expression on the other man's face and in those cold blue-green eyes. There was no hint of the 'country bumpkin' Joshua had played at being earlier, only a definitive and deadly intent as he grimly continued, "If you don't let go of her hand, you're going to go from being a two-armed solicitor to a one-armed panhandler."

Silas released Alice's hand and stepped away from the wagon so quickly that the heels of his boots hit one of the wooden steps leading up to the boardwalk. He lost his balance and sat down hard on the step, gaping up at the two people in the wagon.

"Ready?" Joshua asked Alice in an even tone, and she nodded, wiping the back of her hand on her skirt before wrapping her fingers around the reticule on her lap. He clicked his tongue at Nathan and a few moments later, they were on their way out of Bisbee.

They traveled in silence for a short time until Alice said with forced levity, "Well, I suppose it's a good thing you didn't shoot him."

"Yet," Joshua returned darkly. She gave him a wide-eyed look and he relented, sighing, "I'm just kidding. Mostly."

Somewhat appeased by his half-hearted reassurance, Alice tossed her head and sniffed, "Mr. Brody was far more persistent than the other two, I have to admit."

That took a moment or two to sink in. "The other two?" Joshua echoed, giving her a sharp look before staring straight forward again. He carefully kept any hint of emotion from his voice as he said, "I reckon you near about find yourself surrounded by suitors every time you go to town, though. Women, especially unmarried women, widows and the like, ain't exactly commonplace out here."

Thoughtfully, she replied, "No, not really. In fact, Dan's been gone nearly two years now, and honestly this is only the second time I've come to Bisbee and had anyone request to call on me. The fact that I had three requests in one day, well, that was a bit excessive."

He found that hard to believe that she had so little interest from perspective courters. Men dramatically outnumbered women in this part of the country. While potential suitors might have let Alice have some grieving time following Dan's death, after a year had passed, she'd have been considered fair game. Unless Hollander had made his intentions to pursue Alice Evans clear to any men who might have been interested in courting her, in effect staking a claim on her. The more Joshua thought about that, the more likely he considered that prospect to be. Out loud, he said only, "I imagine they wanted to give you some time to get over Dan's death."

"Mmm," Alice responded dubiously.

Changing the subject, Joshua asked, "So did you get your business with the bank and the Marshal all squared away?"

She hesitated and said slowly, "Yes. Marshal Thompson said since it seems Mr. Hollander had no heirs or family to speak of, the cattle from his ranch don't really have an owner anymore, that they're now the same as feral cattle, free for us to round up and add to our herds, if we so choose. Some have already joined the herds of other ranches in the area… the rest have probably scattered far and wide."

"Probably so," he agreed.

"The problem with them joining our herd is that more cattle means more work for you and the boys," Alice pointed out.

"Mark and I have made do so far," Joshua said, unconcerned. "Once Will's back on his feet again, it'll be that much easier for us to keep 'em together on the range. It's been a good summer weather-wise, and with you giving 'em feed from Turner's store in addition to the grazing they do, I imagine they'll be fat enough to fetch a good price next spring at market." He would have thought she'd be happy about that, but when he glanced over at her, he saw her expression was troubled and the corners of her mouth were turned down into a frown.

Neither of them said anything for the next mile or so until she suddenly broke the silence by asking abruptly, "Does your offer to work on the ranch for no pay still stand?" She didn't look at him as she spoke.

He didn't bother trying to hide his surprise, straightening on the bench seat and staring at her profile. "What made you come to your senses?" he finally asked, absolutely certain that something significant must have brought about her change of mind. She was too proud to accept his offer unless she had no other choice.

Wordlessly, Alice opened her reticule and withdrew a paper, holding it out for him.

Joshua shifted the reins to hold in one hand as he took the document. It was a certificate of Homestead for a parcel of land north of Bisbee—in effect, it was the deed to the Evans land. He examined it briefly before handing it back to her. "The banker had it?"

She nodded, tucking the document back into her reticule and closing it. "He sold it to me for a hundred fifty dollars. I doubt it was legal, since the deed didn't actually belong to him, even with Glen Hollander dead, but it's in my hands and no one's ever going to take it from my family again," Alice said with grim determination.

Joshua didn't trust himself to speak. It was bad enough that Hollander had made the Evans family trade their deed for water rights and then dammed up their creek anyway when they needed water the most, but the banker making her pay nearly 25 cents an acre for land that was in effect already hers was nothing short of outrageous. At that price, the land had cost Alice twice again the value of land in this area. _They called Ben Wade a thief_ , he thought to himself, curling his lip in disgust.

Now he realized that her willingness to accept his working on the ranch without pay wasn't because she had changed her mind about paying him, that she'd accepted he didn't need the money anyway. Instead, it was because she _couldn't_ pay him, not even at the pittance wages of twenty dollars a month—she'd used up what little money she had to get the Evans Homestead certificate back. "Have you got enough money set aside to last until spring roundup? Enough to buy the food and stores you'll need to keep the ranch going til then?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"No," Alice replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she confirmed his suspicion. "I asked a couple of people about maybe selling off some of the longhorns from the Bar-H that have joined our herd, but they're worthless, since so many ranches in the area have already added them to their numbers."

Joshua hadn't considered the short term effect of Hollander's herd scattering, but what she said made sense. No one would pay for the cattle when, if they wanted, they could just take a couple of men out and round up 'feral' cattle bearing the familiar interlocking H of the Double Bar-H brand.

There just weren't a lot of options available to her right now. She could sell either Castor or Pollux and that would net enough money to last a year, possibly longer, given how rare and valuable the Hereford bulls were in this area of the country. She could also do nothing, just making do with the money she had and try to make it stretch as far as possible, but risk losing everything if she failed. If she could just make ends meet until spring roundup, selling off the half-blooded offspring the bulls sired on longhorn cows would give the Evans family enough money to last for another year. The half-Hereford calves would be worth significantly more than a Longhorn calf would at market, and there was a lot of potential there in terms of making money over the long term.

Of course, he had an option of his own to suggest, but he knew she wasn't going to like it, even though it was by far the best of those she had open to her. "I can give you some money. A loan. Of say, the hundred fifty dollars you spent getting your land back. More, if you need it, but enough to last you until spring, and you can pay me back with the money you get from selling the cattle for market."

She didn't say anything, and he could see the indecision on her face. She didn't want to accept his offer unless she had no other choice, but she hadn't outright said 'No' either.

"Come on, Alice, you know it's better than the other options you've got open to you," Joshua said persuasively. "You get to keep Castor and Pollux and your land and don't have to worry about needing stuff you can't afford to buy until spring. After that, you'll have all those extra cattle to sell off to pay me back anyways."

"I know it is, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant," Alice said with distaste, her nose wrinkling.

He felt a flash of irritation at her words and didn't bother keeping it from his tone when he spoke, "Is the prospect of my helping you out that damn objectionable?"

Now it was her turn to be surprised. She stared up at him for a moment before resting a hand lightly on his forearm, earnestly saying, "That's not it at all, Joshua. God knows, you've helped us so much these past couple of weeks, I can't even imagine how awful things would have been if you hadn't been here. I'm immensely grateful for everything you've done for us, and I know Mark and William are as well." She emphasized her words by giving his arm a comforting squeeze.

Somewhat mollified, Joshua nodded and glanced down at her. "It's the money, isn't it? Or really, where the money came from."

Alice made a face, "It doesn't seem right, taking money that was stolen from others."

"It ain't stolen from others, it's stolen from the Southern Pacific Railroad," he corrected. "And it's money they would have used to line the pockets of politicians and wealthy men like Glen Hollander and the banker you had to reclaim your Homestead certificate from. It's the money they would bribed people with, so they could run families like yours and thousands of others off their land in the name of manifest destiny, of progress." He didn't bother to hide his disgust at that particular notion.

"I suppose so," Alice sighed in acceptance and looked down, suddenly realizing she was still touching his arm. She removed her hand, to his regret, withdrawing it to rest on her lap. "Will you need to head back to Miller's Peak?"

"No." Joshua generally didn't carry more than fifty dollars at any given time—there just wasn't much that he was interested in spending money on in general, and the average cowboy was perpetually broke. However, this time, he had taken far more from the stash than usual. Not that he had any particular notion to spend it, but just in case he needed it, he'd have it handy without having to make another fifty mile round trip to Miller's Peak to get it.

"I'll give you the money when we get back home," he informed her. He wondered if she'd try to keep his loan a secret from her sons, and figured the best way to find out was to just ask. "Will you tell William and Mark how you got the land back?"

She gave him an odd look. "Of course, I try to tell them everything. What's going on with the ranch affects all of us. We decided together as a family to stay here and keep ranching after Dan died, we decided together to take up Mr. Butterfield's offer on sending us Castor and Pollux, to replace the barn…. I'd have included them in the decision to buy the land if they'd been here, but I wasn't sure if Mr. McGregor would change his mind about selling me the Homestead Certificate if I didn't accept his offer right then and there."

Joshua nodded, considering her words for a few moments as the wagon rattled up the road. "You gonna tell 'em 'bout your suitors in town? I reckon since you had three this visit, the floodgates done opened and you're liable to have just as many next time you go to Bisbee, if not more," he said bitterly.

Alice had a pained expression on her face as she answered, "Yes, I suppose I should. I guess I expected that it'd happen sooner or later." She didn't seem very enthusiastic about the whole ordeal.

The notion of her being approached by men interested in courting her rankled him. _She ain't yours,_ he firmly reminded himself, and couldn't help but recall how she'd felt pressed up against him last night, her soft body a perfect fit against his, the sweet taste of her lips and dazed arousal on her uplifted face when he'd forced himself to walk away from her. _She might have been though, if you'd stayed,_ a small persuasive voice spoke up. He ignored it, instinctively knowing that leaving was the smartest thing he could have done.

It was too soon for her. She wasn't ready for it, not with Hollander's attack still haunting her memory, and the pain and fear still showing in her eyes every now and again when she stopped and let herself think too much. If Joshua started kissing on her and loving her and that fear took her during the heat of the moment, turning his desire for her into a perceived attack as a result—the self-loathing and disgust he felt just thinking about it would be nothing compared to how he'd feel if it actually happened like that.

Some of his musings must have shown on his face because he suddenly realized she was staring at him, thoughtful and worried. "Are you feeling all right?" Alice asked with concern. "You had the strangest expression on your face, and for a moment there I thought you were going to be ill."

He mustered a smile, reassuring her, "I'm fine. Just a little sick to my stomach at the thought of having to endure more men like Silas Brody fawning over you, is all." Sadly, that statement wasn't far from the truth.

Alice gave him a skeptical look, but when he offered no further explanation, she admitted with a resigned sigh, "Believe me, I'm not looking forward to it any more than you are."

Sensing an opportunity, Joshua offered, "If you want, I can probably keep 'em away from you if I go into town with you."

"Oh? How?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, "I got my ways."

She arched an eyebrow up at him suspiciously, "What, like the way you persuaded Silas Brody to let go of my hand earlier?" Her green eyes brightened with mirth, "I have to admit, that was quite amusing, how he backed up so quickly that he tripped over himself."

"Something along those lines, yes." In retrospect, Brody's quick retreat was humorous, though it hadn't been nearly fast enough to suit Joshua at the time.

"All right, so long as your 'ways' don't involve a gun or other manners of bloodshed." Alice shifted on the bench seat and peeked up at him from beneath lowered eyelashes as the wagon rattled along.

The faintest tinges of a blush colored the fair skin of her cheeks the longer she looked at him, and it didn't take a genius to realize that she was thinking about the kisses they'd shared the night before. They weren't very far from the ranch now and Joshua stayed focused on driving the wagon. When a few minutes had passed and she was still looking at him, he gave her a sidelong glance, catching her eyes in a heated gaze as he warned, "If you keep looking at me like that, I'll be tempted to give you a few more of those 'little kisses' you mentioned earlier."

Alice flushed scarlet and quickly averted her eyes to stare at the road ahead of them. He couldn't help but grin in amusement at her reaction and when he looked at her again, she was sitting as primly as any church lady, her fingers clasped tightly around her reticule. The closer they got to home, the more she relaxed. By the time they were approaching that last dusty rise, he could feel her eyes were on him again.

Joshua pulled up on the reins, bringing Nathan to a halt. The gelding tossed his head restlessly, not pleased at stopping so close to home.

Blinking with confusion, Alice turned slightly toward him as she asked, "Is something wrong? Wha…?"

He kissed her before she had a chance to get the second question out, drawing her into his arms as he captured her lips with his. Initially Alice stiffened with surprise but as had happened last night, after a moment her lips softened and she melted against him. He found himself intoxicated by her touch, her scent, her taste, and Joshua, who had never been particular about practicing temperance or living a life of moderation, was hard pressed to apply it right now, of all times. But he forced himself to end the kiss, pulling back and allowing his arms to slide from around her back to her arms, not quite willing to release her completely just yet.

Joshua stared at Alice, at her swollen lips and uplifted face, and his voice was husky with desire when he said, "Makes you wonder, don't it? If this is what the 'little kisses' do to us, what'll big ones be like?"

Her eyes darkened with anticipation, the barest hint of a smile touching her lips, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to kiss her again. Instead, he moved his hands from where they lightly rested on her upper arms to her bonnet, straightening it and tucking a stray wisp of pale blonde hair behind her ear before he turned back and picked up the reins. The gelding Nathan began to walk before breaking into a trot, eager to get back to the ranch, knowing a good rubdown and rest awaited him.

Alice had regained her poise though that slight smile still lingered on her face as they topped the rise and the house came into sight.

Over the following weeks, the ranch thrived due to an unusually wet summer. Will steadily recovered from his injuries. He still tired easily and his wound still caused him some discomfort, but he gradually improved to the point that he was able to help out with simple chores like milking Daisy and grooming the horses. Like most boys his age, he largely ignored his mother's directive not to overdo it.

One day, Joshua discovered him in the barn, doubled over and sweating with exhaustion and helped him back to the house, announcing irritably to Alice, "Your son's so hellbent on gettin' better that he's killin' himself in the process."

She resisted the urge to say anything, instinctively knowing that Joshua's obviously annoyed disgust at William's overexertion would probably have a far greater effect than any motherly care or advice she had to give. She was right, because after that, Will took more care not to push himself so hard.

To Alice's disappointment, Joshua maintained a proper and respectful distance from her, one that was almost certainly more appropriate to their working arrangement—after all she was, in effect, his employer—but she found herself somewhat chapfallen nonetheless. There were quite a few occasions where she thought she could sense him staring at her, but she could not seem to catch him at it. Whenever she looked in his direction he was either staring down at his plate, or looking at Mark or Will, or off in the distance. She eventually stopped trying, figuring that what she had taken for a sense of being watched had been borne more out of her own desire to have his attention on her than more than a passing interest on his part.

Of course, the opposite was not true, for it seemed that every time she looked in his direction for more than a moment or two, even if his back was turned toward her, he would turn his head just in time for his eyes to meet hers before she could look away. It was horribly embarrassing, and she could never manage to hide the guilty flush that would rise in her cheeks.

The improvements in William's overall health meant that the next time Alice went to Bisbee, she felt safe enough to let Mark accompany her and Joshua to town and leave her oldest son at home alone, though not without extracting a sullen promise from the boy that he would do nothing more strenuous than walking to the outhouse during their absence. Her implication that there'd be no more books and dime magazines forthcoming from Turner's Trading Post if she even suspected he had done more than that probably didn't hurt.

The presence of Mark and his excited chatter made the trip to Bisbee a quick one that had far less tension than the previous and to Alice's relief, their arrival in the small mining town gathered nowhere near as many stares and whispers as the previous had.

It was strange, going in to the general store with Joshua's borrowed money in her reticule along with the list of feed and stores they'd need to last them for the next few weeks. She couldn't help being even more tight-fisted than usual, not wanting to spend any more of his money than she had to, even with the knowledge in her head that there was a lot more money than this he could get if she needed it—or wanted it.

He caught on to what she was doing though, giving her a significant look as he mildly said, "The list said we needed four sacks of flour, not three. And fifteen sacks of feed, not ten," correcting her deviations from the original handwritten list as though he had it memorized—and given his knack for remembering what he'd read, no doubt he did.

Even so, when she was conducting her other business about town, talking with Elijah the blacksmith to arrange a day to bring the horses by for their regular shoeing, or exchanging polite words with some of the townsfolk like Agnes Newsome, the preacher's wife, (who of course demanded to know why, if William was well enough to be on his feet again, none of the Evans had yet taken the time to start attending church again on Sundays) Joshua stayed a little apart, far enough away that were it not for Mark staying at his elbow he wouldn't have appeared to have been accompanying Alice at all.

All that changed the instant the first man approached her with an intent expression on his face that indicated he was hoping for more than a polite passing greeting from her. The man, a silver prospector who'd clearly gone out of his way to clean up by washing his face but who still had the grimy and stained clothing that showed he spent more time underground than above, barely got out an enthusiastic, "Howdy, Mrs. Evans," before Alice felt, rather than saw, Joshua move to stand right behind her, close enough that his broad chest touched her shoulder and she could feel his body heat through the fabric of her dress. She kept her attention focused on the prospector, whose expression rapidly turned from hopeful to dismay at Joshua's heretofore unremarkable presence at her side.

"I, uh, er, was…" the prospector stammered, focusing his attention on Alice for a moment, but as his gaze slipped from her face to Joshua's behind her again, his complexion paled and he stuttered to a stop. Finally, he drew in a quick breath and hurriedly said in a rush of words, "I was hoping you were having a nice day—Goodbye." The grimy man beat a hasty retreat, looking fearfully back over his shoulder at them before he crossed the street, heading toward the saloon, no doubt for a stiff drink.

Bemused, Alice glanced up at Joshua, who was still watching the prospector walk away, and drew in a quick breath at his expression. It was grim and menacing. And it wasn't just the look on his face, but his whole body that exuded deadly intent, from tensed muscles ready to fight, to the light yet glaringly obvious touch of his fingertips drumming the handle of his holstered pistol. This was a man who had killed people and, from the look of it, he wasn't opposed to doing it again if the notion took him.

His gaze flickered downwards to meet hers and as quick as a flash of lightning, Joshua's squared shoulders relaxed, his fingers dropped away from his gun, and his entire demeanor changed to the one she and the boys were far more familiar with, that of an amiable cowpoke who's lazy and relaxed good humor intermingled with natural and casual charm. He gave her a playful wink and half-smile, his blue-green eyes warm and reassuring, as he stepped back from her.

Mark was staring up at him, mouth slightly agape and something approaching awe on his face. "Wow—how'd you do that? You scared the piss out of him and you didn't even say a word!" the boy exclaimed.

"Years of practice," Joshua answered modestly, giving a light shrug.

Alice blinked, shaking her head a little as she turned her attention back to finishing her business in town. Only one other potential beau approached her, a tall thin man named Sam Bragg who happened to be one of the three who had waylaid her during the last trip to town. From the way he had his hand in his jacket pocket, clearly fiddling with something or another he had tucked there, she strongly suspected he had some manner of gift or trinket with which to woo her attentions. She couldn't be sure, though, as Bragg only mustered up enough courage to exchange a few brief sentences with Alice regarding the lovely weather they'd been having before he fled from Joshua's dangerously brooding presence too.

After that, the only other man to stop and exchange non-business related pleasantries during their town trip was the portly bank owner, Milton McGregor, and he was accompanied by his equally rotund wife, Betty.

As the married couple passed them on the board walk before stepping off and walking toward the bank, Joshua watched them go with a shrewd expression on his face before he asked, "McGregor…. The same McGregor that owns the bank? The one that had your deed?"

"Yes," Alice answered, a frown appearing unbidden on her face as she got to thinking about how McGregor had forced her to pay to get her Homestead certificate back.

He nodded briefly, but said nothing.

A few more steps had them in front of the Marshal's office, and Joshua drew up short at the edge of the wooden awning over the sidewalk. Alice gave him an apologetic look and said quietly, "I promised the Marshal I'd keep him updated on William's health. You can wait out here, while Mark and I are inside, though of course you're welcome to come in with us." She knew the chances of him taking her up on that offer were slim and none. "Come on, Mark," she said.

"You'll wait here?" Mark asked, looking up at him.

"Yep. Right'chere," Joshua replied in an exaggerated drawl, grinning at the boy and leaning his shoulder up against the thick wooden post that held up the end of the overhang.

"We won't be long," Alice promised him with a smile, tucking her reticule under her arm as she stepped through the doorway and into the office, with Mark following a step behind.

The office was empty save for two people. Deputy Mitch Young had his chair propped back against the wall near the jail cells and it appeared the only thing keeping him awake was the loud snoring coming from the other occupant, Doc Hall. The Bisbee self-proclaimed doctor was sprawled on the cot in one of the jail cells, his clothing utterly filthy, and making enough noise to wake the dead as he slept off what was probably the remnants of the previous evening's bender. Marshal Thompson was nowhere to be seen.

She cleared her throat quietly and, with a thunk, all four of Deputy Young's chair legs hit the ground as the young man looked around with a hint of confusion on his face before he focused first on Mark, and then on her, a flush of embarrassment rising in his cheeks.

"Howdy, Miz Evans, Mark!" Young said, hurriedly getting to his feet and walking toward her. "I hope you hadn't been waiting for long. I was just, well, keeping an eye on Doc Hall." He coughed a little, barely stifling a yawn before he turned to look at the balding, drunken man in the cell and added with a grimace, "Not that the ol' coot's going anywhere anytime soon. He done got himself a bad case of barrel fever last night, he drank so much. He went to go home and got on the wrong horse, and then when the miner that owned it tried to stop him, he threw a punch and a couple other miners jumped in, and, well, honestly by that point, we figured he was safer sleeping it off in a cell before he caused any more trouble."

Mark peered around Young as the doctor rolled over on his cot, and the boy's nose suddenly wrinkled as the pungent smell of cheap whiskey, urine, and other less savory things wafted up from the occupied jail cell. He immediately pinched his nostrils together to block the scent and stepped backwards, toward the fresher air coming in through the open door.

Alice's nose twitched at the awful scent as well, but she resisted the urge to clap her hand over her own nose and merely nodded sympathetically at Deputy Young, glancing at Doc Hall again. Now she could see the man's face was swollen and he had a black eye. "I'm sure it was probably for the best. Where's Marshal Thompson today?"

"He said he had some business to take care of at the Copper Queen, and I'm not rightly sure when he'll be back," the deputy answered and then grinned at Mark. "I heard your brother is back on his feet, that's good to hear." At Alice's inquisitive look, Young chuckled, "Agnes Newsome hurried over after you spoke with her a little while ago, I reckon. You know how she likes to be the first one to tell anyone any news, good or bad."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "Indeed. Well, Mrs. Newsome told you truly, William is getting better every day, and we expect he'll be right as rain as soon as he's got all his strength back. Hopefully in a month or so, if he doesn't push too hard. I'd appreciate you passing the news on to the Marshal for me, if you don't mind?"

Deputy Young snorted and waved a hand, "I don't mind at all—though I imagine there's a fair chance that Agnes might tell him first, of course."

"She might, at that," Alice readily agreed, a smile still lingering on her lips. "Thank you, Deputy Young."

"You're welcome, Miz Evans," he said, tipping his hat at her a little before looking beyond her, through the large front window at Joshua, who was still standing right where they'd left him, leaning against the awning post. "How's Hollander's man working out as a cowprod?" he asked curiously.

Alice couldn't help but stiffen at the question, but before she could say a word, Mark interjected, "He wasn't ever 'Hollander's man', and he's workin' out just fine." The boy glared up at Young.

The deputy seemed a little taken aback by Mark's swift and fierce defense of the man, and held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Sorry, no need to get your back up, I was just wondering how he was doing as your cowhand, seein's how William is still on the mend. I reckon he didn't care for Hollander anymore than anyone else in town did though, to hear tell."

Resting her hand on Mark's shoulder, Alice inclined her head and carefully said, "I think it's just that, well, being called 'Hollander's man' has a certain connotation to it that Mr. Mason wouldn't take much of a liking to. I don't think he wants anyone comparing him to the likes of the usual manner of men that Mr. Hollander had in his employ."

Deputy Young nodded, his expression apologetic. "Yeah, I suppose I wouldn't want that brand my own self, when you put it like that. Bein' put in the same row as Lester Holmes and the like."

Shifting from one foot to the other, Alice finally said, "Well, we'd better be getting a move on. I think we've been gone from the ranch long enough, and I need to be getting back to check on William."

"Yes'm," Young nodded, tipping his hat at her again as she made her way back outside. "Good seein' you and Mark again, and tell William I… Oh!" His eyes flew open wide at something and he abruptly turned, walking over to his desk in the office and leaving Alice and Mark looking at each other with confusion at his sudden exclamation.

Joshua warily maintained his distance from them, though he straightened tensely as the deputy returned.

Deputy Young walked toward them holding a large stack of dime novels, some with pages clearly ripped off, gathered in his hands. "People have been bringing them by for William for weeks—everyone knows how much he likes to read. I been meanin' to bring them by but kept getting caught up with other stuff. Most of them are pretty catawomptiously chawed up, but still, I figured it's better 'n nothing. I got drawers full of them," he said, jerking his chin back at his desk.

Blinking a little at the number of books, Alice murmured, "Thank you," as she took some of the magazines from the young deputy. There were too many all at once for her smaller hands to hold, and a few dropped to the ground, where they were swiftly collected by Mark and Joshua, who'd come up behind her.

"Want some help getting the rest?" Joshua asked Deputy Young, meeting the younger man's eyes as he smoothed a hand over one dime novel before giving it to Mark to put in the wagon.

"Sure thing, Mason," Young said with an affable nod, returning to his desk.

Joshua gave her a tight smile before he ambled after the deputy, and Alice and Mark looked first at each other, and then at the lawman and former outlaw as they worked together to stack up the rest of the dime novels and returned.

"I'll help you carry them to your wagon. Ain't like Doc Hall's going anywheres, even if he does happen to wake up. Anyway, if I had the sense God gave a flea, I'd have tied them all up with some string so they didn't flop every which way," Deputy Young said sheepishly.

"We got some twine in the wagon," Mark informed him with a grin, his eyes bright with excitement. "William is gonna be over the moon when he sees all of these."

A few moments later, they reached the wagon where it was still parked in front of the Trading Post. Mark and Deputy Young worked together to tie up the magazines in some semblance of order, while Joshua removed the horse's feed bag and checked him over one last time before they made the trip home.

Rebecca Hollins, a tall brunette woman who also happened to be a widow as well, drew Alice aside to ask her about attending an upcoming quilting bee the following Sunday after church. However, the conversation took a not so subtle turn after a few moments, as Rebecca began to pump her for information regarding her 'looker of a cowhand'. Both surprised and irritated by the other woman's questions, Alice would only say that he was a hard worker and got along well with both Mark and William.

The taller brunette gave her a speculative look and nodded sharply as though Alice's reticence were only confirming her suspicions. "Keeping him for yourself, are you? Well, I can't say as I can blame you for that. Hope to see you at the bee, either way," she said cheerfully, giving Joshua one last and lingering look before she walked away.

Alice's rapidly deteriorating mood took another downward turn when pair of 'painted ladies' from one of Bisbee's many brothels sashayed by right as Rebecca walked off, and the two gaudily dressed women openly ogled Joshua as he shifted the feed bags in the back of the wagon one last time, evening out the weight a little more. When he hopped down from the wagon, one whispered to the other, and together, they crossed the street, right in front of him, flaunting themselves like, well, like common whores. One even stopped to murmur something for his ears only and gave him a saucy wink as well. He chuckled, smiling back at them with amusement and a little too warmly (in Alice's opinion, anyway) as they sauntered away, and then turned back to the wagon.

Deputy Young and Mark had the magazines neatly tied in four large stacks when Alice reached the side of the wagon, and the lawman graciously helped her up into the wagon, saying, "Ya'll be careful on your way back to the ranch. And tell William we're all glad he's getting better. Good seeing you again, Miz Evans, Mark, and Mason." He bobbed his head in farewell at each of them before turning to make his way back toward the Marshal's office, whistling cheerfully.

Mark opened the dime magazine he had kept out for the trip home and started to read, propping his back up against the feed bags as Joshua flipped the reins, and they started on their way home. A few minutes passed, and the man glanced behind him, shaking his head slightly at the bundled paper novels. "That's one hell of a reward."

"Excuse me?" Alice blinked, her irritation temporarily forgotten as she looked over at him. "Reward?"

Joshua shrugged, "Why you think people up and decided to give William all of those, just because he got shot? I doubt that. It ain't money, but it's a reward for him because they think he killed Glen Hollander."

"But you said you were the one who killed Hollander," piped up Mark from the back of the wagon, and sat up a little so he could see Joshua's face.

"I did—but William shot him in the heart as well," Joshua explained, deftly maneuvering the reins to direct the chestnut horse around a rut in the road. "Given the fact that William told both the Marshal and Deputy Young that he killed Hollander to protect your Ma, it's for the best that they, and everyone else for that matter, believe that. Especially given my past."

Alice looked over her shoulder at Mark, and at the stacks of magazines in the wagon. Joshua was right of course. Jacob Turner had said that the townsfolk were on the verge of throwing William a parade—that wouldn't exactly have been proper, no matter what the circumstances during which Glen Hollander had died, so they rewarded the boy the only way they could, by giving him something they knew he loved. Sudden tears stung her eyes, and she had to bite her lip to hold her emotions in check.

Mark looked westward, where the edges of Glen Hollander's massive spread lay, all centered around the fertile ground of the San Pedro river. "What do you suppose will happen to all his land, now that he's dead? Will squatters move in? Or homesteaders like us, or will someone just, I don't know, buy it from the bank?"

Blinking away her tears, Alice drew in a deep worried breath at Mark's questions. What if someone just like Hollander got a hold of that land, and tried to hold back water rights again from her ranch. Then everything that they'd done so far would count for nothing.

"I don't know," Joshua answered thoughtfully, looking that way as well. "I think we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it."

Mark stuck his thumb up under the twine of one of the book bundles, hefting its weight a little before he picked up his tattered copy again and settled back on the feed bags again. "You're right, Joshua. It is a hell of a reward, isn't it, Ma?"

"Yes it is," Alice agreed hoarsely, when she could trust herself to speak again. The wagon rattled on.

The next few days were blazing hot and dry to boot. Though summers were typically dry, the elevated terrain around Bisbee usually meant that ranches didn't have to suffer through the extreme heat of the more westerly parts of Arizona Territory. Every now and then, though, they'd get hit with a few days of scorching heat, and these few days in July looked like they were going to be it.

With the immense supply of reading material, William spent a little more time reading and resting up, and less time trying to prove how healthy he was getting to everyone else. Mark snuck in some reading time as well, though he wasn't nearly as avid a reader as his brother.

Alice spent as little time outside in the sun as possible, and tried to do her hardest chores early in the morning and late in the evening when the land started to cool. They started being more careful about water use, despite the fact that the rain barrels were all filled almost to overflowing, and the stream was still flowing steadily from the east.

Joshua seemed unusually quiet. The boys were both distracted enough by their reading that they didn't seem to notice anything amiss, and initially, Alice thought he was just being a little quieter and a little less—playful?—around them because he was letting them read in peace. But gradually, she noticed it, that when his expression turned thoughtful, even brooding at times, his gaze tended to drift South, toward Bisbee, perhaps even toward Mexico. Or West, toward—she didn't know what lay West beyond Hollander's land that would have his interest. California, maybe? Maybe the restless spirit of Ben Wade was reasserting itself and he was ready to move on to greener pastures.

The second evening after their return from Bisbee, after the chores were done, everyone had settled down the evening. Alice and the boys were reading, she in the rocking chair in the sitting room, and the boys in their perspective bedrooms.

Joshua held a piece of charcoal in his hand, sketching supposedly. However, from the utterly distracted expression on his face, he wasn't really paying any attention at all to what he was drawing—assuming he'd done more than make a few lines on the paper to begin with. Curious, she got up and went into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of water and as she passed him, she happened to glance down and saw that the light delicate lines on the paper were the unmistakably feminine curves of a woman's body, from naked breasts to the slightly indented navel to the v-shaped juncture of thigh and groin on a woman's pelvis.

The image of Rebecca Hollins and those two fancily dressed prostitutes suddenly appeared in her mind's eye, and she abruptly realized that maybe he'd been gazing southward because he was distracted all right—distracted by the desire to scratch a particular itch that men were known to have. Her lips tightened with anger and—she admitted it to herself—jealousy. While Rebecca had been hopelessly mistaken (hadn't she?) in her assumption that Alice wanted to keep him to herself, that didn't mean she wanted to see him heading off to town to sleep with prostitutes either.

Alice's hand trembled a little as she poured out the water from the pitcher, but by the time she turned to make her way back to the rocking chair, she had regained her composure. When she glanced down at Joshua's sketch though, she saw the image had changed, and he was now drawing his black horse, Dawson. She presumed he must have turned the paper over when she had her back to him. She sat down in her the chair again, leaning back to look at him from across the room. He'd regained his concentration, and was sketching very deliberately now, focused on the smooth black lines the charcoal created on the paper with each quick even stroke of his hand.

She picked up her Jules Verne book and forced herself to read a couple more pages before she gave an exaggerated yawn and announced, "I think it's about time for me to turn in. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he answered, glancing up at her for a moment before he carefully folded up the piece of paper he'd drawn on and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "I'll get the lanterns." His offer wasn't unusual, he'd taken to doing that before heading down to the barn for the night a couple of weeks earlier.

She shut the bedroom door firmly behind her, the noise causing Mark to look up in surprise from where he was laying across the bed, still reading. "Bed already?" he asked, his small face crestfallen. "I was just getting to the good part."

"Bedtime," she replied shortly, turning down the lantern before she shucked her dress and got into bed. Turning her back to him, Alice tucked the edge of the sheet under her arm, she shut her eyes tightly. Even after the candles and lanterns were all extinguished, it was a long time before she fell into a fitful sleep.

The next day was just as hot as the previous two had been, and everyone seemed somewhat subdued and quiet in the face of intense heat beating down on them all day. Alice was in the process of cleaning the house, giving the floors a good thorough scrubbing when she heard the lowing of the herd coming in, way earlier than was normal. She got to her feet, wincing a little at the ache in her shoulder and back and walked out to the porch, lifting her hand to block the mid afternoon sun from her eyes as she watched Mark and Joshua drive the herd into the large corral, the huge red forms of Castor and Pollux leading the way.

William emerged from the barn, and she could tell he was just as confused by the early return as she. He made his way around the outside of the corral as the cattle poured in, and when the last cow ambled past the gate, he closed it behind her before turning to look up at the two riders. Mark dismounted, clearly intent on leading his horse to the barn for a good rubdown and rest.

Joshua exchanged a few brief words with William before he turned his head, looking directly at her and giving her a brief wave. She lifted her arm, just enough to acknowledge his farewell, and then watched as he wheeled Dawson around and headed south toward Bisbee.

Alice watched him ride off and went back in the house, returning to her floor scrubbing with an absolute vengeance.

Mark came in a few minutes later, grabbing a bit of bread from the bread box and eating it in silence as he watched her scour the floor. "Aren't you going to ask where Joshua went?" he asked curiously.

"I know where he went—to Bisbee," she grated out, puffing a little with exertion from how hard she was scrubbing the floor.

"Oh. Yeah, he went to Bisbee. Said he had some business to take care of. Said he'd be back by supper, more'n likely."

She could feel the heat coming off of her in waves, and knew it had nothing to with the hot weather, but was instead fueled by anger—and jealousy. Not that she'd done anything or said anything that might have stopped him. She could have, probably, but she just… couldn't. "So that's what he's calling it—business," she muttered under her breath. She supposed it could be seen as a business arrangement, in the sense that one person bought and the other got paid.

Mark heard her say something, but couldn't quite make out what she said. "What'dja say?" he asked around a bite of bread.

"Nothing," she said shortly. "Now leave me be so I can get this floor cleaned before it's time to put supper on."

A bit startled by her sharp tone, he nodded and went back out to the relative safety of the barn.

Joshua returned as he had predicted to Mark, right as Alice was getting the plates ready to put on the table. He saw to his horse as the Evans finished the rest of the dinner preparations, Mark setting the table as William filled up the glasses with cool well water.

It was clear to see when Joshua came into the ranch house that he was over and done with brooding. Indeed, he was in a fine mood, and to Alice's eyes, his smile was almost smug—like that of a man who'd gotten exactly what he wanted and then some. Well, if he was willing to pay for it, she was pretty damn sure he had.

"Mark, say grace," Alice ordered tersely, pointedly closing her eyes and bowing her head over the roast chicken.

"Sure." The boy lowered his head and recited the routine prayer they always said at meals. "God our Father, Lord, and Savior, thank you for your love and favor. Bless this food and drink we pray, bless all who stays with us today. Amen."

They all started in on eating, and after taking a few bites, William asked Joshua curiously, "So, did you get your business all taken care of?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," he stated smugly, meeting Alice's green eyes from across the table for the first time since his return. Joshua paused for a long moment, the self-satisfied expression on his face shifting to something more speculative, more cautious, as he noticed her pinched and angry expression. Using his fork to move the peas around on his plate, he said casually, "I'll tell you all about it. See, I rode Dawson into town, and then right as I got there, I saw…."

"Mr. Mason," Alice interrupted icily, "We don't really need to know the details of your 'business' in town. Especially not at the dinner table."

Resting an elbow on the table, he raised a chicken drumstick to his mouth and took a bite out of it, his eyebrow quirked in sardonic amusement. "You don't want to know? I mean, aren't you the least bit curious?"

Mark nodded, immediately responding, "I would," before he happened to glance at his mother, who was now glaring at him. "Er, nevermind. No I wouldn't," he hastily amended. The boy lowered his head and started shoveling food into his mouth, figuring the faster he ate, the quicker he could get away from the table and out of range.

William looked between Alice and Joshua, confused by the unmistakable tension he could now sense in the room. He ate, slowly, his gaze now fixed firmly on his plate.

Alice picked up the knife, cutting into her chicken with a bit more force than was absolutely necessary so that the knife scraped the plate. Ignoring it, she stabbed at the meat with her fork and put it into her mouth.

She'd just started to swallow when Joshua picked up his cup of water, staring into it and swirling it around a bit before he suddenly said, "Today was hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night, wasn't it?"

William's head shot up at the crude phrase and he stared at Joshua in disbelief. Mark giggled, a high pitched nervous sound that nearly drowned out the sound of Alice coughing and nearly choking on the bite of chicken. Will gave her a few hearty thumps on the back that did more to bring tears to her eyes than nearly choking on her meal had.

Joshua took a sip from his cup and set it down, watching as Alice recovered from her coughing fit.

The blonde woman took a few quick sips of water to sooth her throat, and when she could trust her self again, her tone was chill as she asked, "Mr. Mason, may I have a word with you in private outside?" Without waiting for his response, she got up from the table and walked outside.

"Of course, _Alice_ ," he returned mockingly, and rose up, following her outside and leaving William and Mark behind at the table staring after them, both boys wide-eyed and worried.

Alice was standing around the edge of the house by the woodshed, her arms crossed defensively in front of her and chest heaving as she struggled to control her tumultuous emotions.

_She'd be even more riled up if she knew how beautiful I thought she looked when she's angry,_ Joshua thought to himself with a smirk he barely managed to keep hidden as she turned to face him, her cheeks rosy with ire. He started to lean against the rickety beam that held up the woodshed roof, but as it shifted from his weight he thought the better of it and stood up straight, facing the ranch house. There was a small window right behind Alice, but the curtains were drawn closed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them to regard her again as he ran his hands through his short dark hair with a quick irritated motion. "You thought I went whoring, didn't you?"

She had started to speak, but his words drew her up short. "You didn't?" she said after a long hesitation, her voice small and uncertain.

"No, I didn't." He'd considered it, yes, but the simple and heartfelt relief he saw in her eyes before her gaze dropped to the ground made him doubly glad he hadn't.

"Oh." Her cheeks were still red, but now it was caused by embarrassment. She wrung her hands together for a moment before looking up at him. "I… I somehow managed to garner the nasty habit of expecting the worst from you, haven't I?"

Joshua nodded, acknowledging the honesty in her words. "You have, but I reckon it's a hard row to hoe for you to expect any better of me, knowin' what you know about me and my past." A sad smile twisted his lips.

Impulsively, Alice reached out to take of his hands in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze as she shook her head. "No, you're wrong. I should definitely expect better of you, especially after these past few weeks. You've been…" She struggled with the words for a moment and finally shrugged, a watery smile on her lips and tears brimming in her eyes as she looked up at him. "I can't even put into words how grateful I am, how thankful I am that you've been around, how thankful we all are. I trusted you with William's life after he got shot, and it seemed so easy, so clear then, I just don't know why I've struggled with trusting you in other matters, well, I _do_ know, but…" She wrinkled her nose and gave a dismissive wave of her other hand, vowing, "I'm just saying, I'll do better. I promise."

He didn't say anything at first, just turned her hand over in his and tenderly traced his large thumb over the palm of her hand for a long moment. "Alice," he said, drawling out her name as he asked, "Would you like to know the real reason I went to Bisbee today?"

She exhaled slowly before nodding, "Yes. Yes, Joshua, I would like to know."

Wordlessly, he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper and handing it to her.

"What's this?" she immediately asked, tugging her hand free of his to unfold the paper and glancing up at him.

A shrug was the only response Joshua could muster, and wordlessly, he reclaimed her small hand again, holding it in his as she read her way through the official document, which allocated 24,000 acres of land along the San Pedro River to Joshua P. Mason. It was signed by both Joshua and Milton McGregor. "What am I looking at, here, exactly?" she asked, a little dazed by the amount of land. It was nearly 40 times the area of the Evans ranch.

"You're looking at the land deed that belongs to your new neighbor." Joshua took the deed, folding it one-handed so he didn't have to let go of her hand. He slipped it into his vest pocket and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Figured if I owned the land, there's no way your creek will get dammed up ever again."

She shook her head, still a bit flummoxed by what he'd done. "That's a bit extreme, don't you think? It must have cost…. No, don't tell me how much it cost. I really don't want to know."

"I've always been a man who's interested in the end result above all else," he said with a tight smile. "Besides, it didn't cost nearly as much as you'd think. You could say that Mr. McGregor reached a mutually beneficial arrangement." The rotund banker had been surprisingly easy to 'persuade', especially once Joshua indicated he had proof the banker had been selling Homestead Certificates, which was a federal crime.

"But, once people figure out that you own all that land, there's no way you'll be able to pretend to be nothing more than a cowhand… people will know you're rich and your name and face will be out there for everyone to see," Alice protested, paling a little at that prospect. If his face got out, there was bound to be someone who recognized him as Ben Wade.

He immediately shook his head. "The only people who know I own that land are you, me, and Mr. McGregor—and McGregor knows exactly what'll happen to him if he even hints that I'm the one who owns the land," he said darkly. "As far as anyone else knows, it was bought up by some rich greenhorn from back East."

"Ma? Joshua?" William called warily from the front side of the house. "Supper's getting cold, everything all right?"

"Everything's fine. We'll be along in just a moment," Alice replied, giving Joshua a warning look as she slowly pulled her hand away from his.

"Alice, just so's you know," Joshua drawled out, his voice velvet smooth as he leaned down to tell her, "There ain't no sense in me going to Bisbee or anywhere else when the only woman I've taken a shine to is right here in front of me." He brushed her lips in a kiss so gentle and tender it nearly took her breath away.

She blushed prettily, smiling up at him before she went back inside. The moment she disappeared around the corner, Joshua squared his shoulders before he looked at that small window facing the woodshed again, where moments before the edge of the curtain had been pulled aside.

Inside, William and Mark had already finished eating and were slipping their plates into the wash bin when Joshua reclaimed his chair.

"You two make up?" Mark asked, looking suspiciously between the two adults.

"Yes. I was very rude to Joshua, and I apologized for it," Alice said, her cheeks still a little flushed, though to her younger son it might have appeared to be embarrassment. The older one knew better.

William didn't say anything, just put his hat on and studied his mother for a long moment from beneath the brim before he headed outside. "I'm gonna help with the feeding," he said gruffly.

"Hey, wait for me!" Mark called, hurrying outside after his brother.

Joshua and Alice finished their meals quickly and without the typical idle chatter that accompanied meals. It was a comfortable silence though, and he gave her a warm smile as he carried his plate to the wash basin as well before heading outside.

Mark and William were well into the chores of feeding the cattle by the time Joshua joined them in finishing out the evening's chores. By the time they were all done, it was dusk. Mark went inside, but his brother lingered longer than usual, resting his chin on the edge of the fence and watching the cattle mill about.

Joshua joined him, lifting his leg to rest his boot on the lower rail as he waited for the boy to say his piece.

William studiously avoided looking at him, instead holding his hand out for Castor when the massive bull wandered near, letting the great beast lick his hand affectionately with long strokes of his thick rough tongue. When the bull bored of that, he lowered his head so that the boy could rub his poll. Finally, he looked at Joshua with dark and wary eyes, stating simply, "She ain't no Emma Thompson. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. You're right, she definitely ain't no Emma," Joshua answered, his expression serious as he met the boy's gaze.

Turning his attention back toward the red Hereford bull, Will lightly scratched the bull right between the eyes, quietly stating, "I just want her to be happy. More than anything else. I think she deserves that much."

The man couldn't argue with that point. "She does."

"You think you can make her happy?"

Joshua hesitated at the question. Could he? He was confident enough in his abilities that he felt pretty certain he could please her sexually, but really, did that count as making her happy? Not really—not more than temporarily. "I don't know," he finally answered honestly, "But I'm sure as hell gonna try."

William grunted in reaction.

Now it was Joshua's turn to ask a question. "You think I'm good enough for her?" It was an idiotic thing to ask, because he knew the answer to that—a resounding 'No'. Hell no, he wasn't good enough for her, and never would be.

"No," the boy said simply, confirming his opinion, before giving him a sidelong glance. "But no one else is either. I trust you, at least, with my life. Hers too, I suppose." A wry smile curved his lips. "I reckon there's some that'd think that was kinda strange, all things considered."

"I reckon so," Joshua readily agreed.

William drew his hand away from Castor and turn to face the man directly, and his expression was fierce when he spoke. "If you hurt her, I swear to God, I'll shoot you dead."

"If I hurt her, I'll give you the gun myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia:  
> An acre is a unit of measurement and thus can vary widely in length, width. Quite obviously, makes it rather difficult to describe in terms of area covered. To put it into perspective, a single acre is 90.75 yards of a 100 yard football field. The Homesteader Act entitled the bearer of the Homestead Certificate to between 160-640 acres of land. In the rugged rural terrain of Arizona Territory, the Evans were probably allotted 640 acres, which is 1 square mile of land (2.59 square kilometers).  
> 24,000 acres would be 37.5 square miles (or 60 square kilometers). To put the size of that land into perspective, if it were a square parcel of land, it would have sides more than 6 miles long (7.75 km). It sounds like a lot of land, and yet it doesn't. The real kicker is that the going price for land back then was about $0.10 an acre—so all of that land only cost Joshua 2,400 dollars.  
> The cattle barons of that era had land that covered areas of more than 100,000 acres. That's 150 square miles of land—and Joshua still could have afforded it, since it would have only cost 10,000 dollars! However it seemed a little overkill to give him that much so I chose a more modest amount.


	13. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes. Another dang visitor to the ranch. An extremely convenient snowstorm.

Alice was hanging the last of the laundry up on the clothes line on a cool October afternoon three months later when movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned to look and her eyebrows arched upwards with surprise as she realized the rotund man riding the horse toward the ranch was none other than the banker, Milton McGregor.

Quickly using clothespins to attach the rest of the clothing to the line, she left the basket on the ground and walked over to the house to greet the visitor. Supper had already been started and judging from the smell, the roast beef was coming along quite nicely. Once the cornbread was done, supper would be ready.

Milton McGregor drew his horse to a halt a few feet away. Either he'd set an unusually fast pace, or the additional weight the banker's midsection had taken its toll on the poor gelding he was riding. The horse was lathered with sweat. Alice had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling when the horse gave what seemed like a visible sigh of relief as the heavyset man swung down to the ground.

It was wash day, and after rubbing her hands nearly raw scrubbing clothes all day, her back and shoulders ached, and she could feel every single one of her thirty-six years weighing heavily on her. Alice was sure she looked like quite a sight, certainly not adequate for entertaining guests, but she merely dusted her hands off and brushed her hair back, doing what little she could to neaten her appearance. "Good afternoon, Mr. McGregor," she said politely. "It's a pleasure to see you again." That was a lie, of course, but a lifetime of good manners had been too deeply ingrained for her to be rude to the man.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Evans," Milton McGregor returned, the slight wince of pain on his face showing he was feeling the after effects of his ten mile ride from Bisbee. He tipped his bowler hat slightly in her direction before looking around, taking in his surroundings. He weighed at least two hundred fifty pounds, if not more, despite being the same height she was, and his eyes seemed overly small, especially given his fleshy balding head.

Alice looked around as well, and was fairly certain the banker was less than impressed by what he saw. The small house was rather shabby looking, despite Alice's best efforts to keep it neat, the woodshed was leaning enough that it looked like a healthy sneeze would blow it over—even the garden was in a state of decay as a result of the cooler weather. Only the barn looked well kept, and that was more due to the fact that it was practically new. She turned her attention back to Milton and crossed her arms. It took every ounce of decorum she possessed to treat him with the courtesy due his position in the small community, especially with the memory of what he'd done regarding her eventual reclamation of her Homestead Certificate fresh in her mind. "May I offer you something to drink? Some water, perhaps, or coffee?"

McGregor took his time in answering her, his small piggish eyes still looking around the farm. Finally he shook his head and turned to face her, a speculative look on his face. "No thank you."

_Well, so much for being polite_ , Alice thought to herself and asked, "Then, may I ask to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" She had a notion that it had something to do with Joshua of course, but no more than that.

He confirmed her suspicions with his answer. "Is Mr. Mason around? I have matters of some importance to discuss with him," the banker said loftily, though there was the faintest hint of unease on his face.

They must have been important matters indeed to bring Milton McGregor all the way from Bisbee to the Evans ranch. A little worried now, Alice shook her head and answered, "No, he's not around, he and the boys are out driving the herd." She glanced westward where the sun was sinking lower into the horizon, calculating the approximate time of day. "They should be back here shortly though. Did you want me to tell him you came by? We're short on supplies and will be coming going to Bisbee later this week. I'm sure he can come by the bank and see you the next time…"

"No, I simply must see him today!" McGregor interrupted loudly, a hint of panic in his voice. His horse started at the man's sudden outburst, and the banker gave the reins in his hand a sharp jerk to settle the gelding before looking at her again.

Alice's eyebrows shot upward in surprise at the fat man's exclamation and she could not help feeling an icy chill form in her chest. "Is something wrong?" she asked worriedly. Clearly something significant had happened—not only was Mr. McGregor coming to her ranch to pay Joshua a visit, he also clearly did not want Joshua to go to town for some reason. She immediately wondered if Joshua had been exposed as being Ben Wade, though that seemed highly unlikely. If Milton McGregor knew Joshua was the notorious outlaw Ben Wade, he would have just sent Marshal Thompson and Deputy Young to arrest him. Certainly the banker wouldn't have come a-calling all by himself to warn Joshua of something like that.

McGregor's lips thinned at her question and he sniffed dismissively. "It is a private matter for Mr. Mason's ears alone, not something I'll be gossiping about with the likes of you, Alice Evans."

Gritting her teeth at his boorish words, Alice somehow managed to resist doing more than inclining her head. "Very well then, I'll let you see to your horse. I hope you'll excuse me, I have things I need to attend to before they get home." Without waiting for his response, she made her way back to the clothesline and began checking the clothes hanging there for dryness. Those dry enough to come off the line were folded neatly and placed in the basket, ready to be ironed the following day.

She picked up the clothes laden basket, resting it on her hip as she carried it back inside the house, barely even sparing a glance for the banker, who was still watering his horse. Alice set to finishing the cooking, putting a dab of butter on the tops of the rolls before putting them in the oven. Joshua and the boys would be back soon enough, and when they returned, the reason for Mr. McGregor's visit would be revealed, one way or the other.

The day seemed to have passed more quickly than usual for Joshua, though he suspected the reason for that was sharing the saddle with Mark at the moment. The russet calf with the stark white face bleated piteously, eliciting an extended 'moo' of worry from its Longhorn dam that followed a few paces behind the boy's horse. Calving season had begun.

With only one or two exceptions (and those heifers would be culled in the spring roundup no doubt), the cows in the herd were heavily pregnant. They'd been keeping a very close eye out for cows trying to separate themselves from the herd, following the instinctive need to birth their young alone. When they stopped for lunch, one particular cow, easily identifiable by the large patch of black on the back of her neck, had wandered away from the other animals unnoticed until they were prepared to move again. Mark's excellent skills at tracking helped them find her quickly, only to discover the calf had already been born and was trying to get to her feet.

The ease with which the calf had born was a relief. Castor and Pollux were both enormous bulls and if their calves were too large for the Longhorn cows to pass easily, the results would be deadly for the laboring cows and disastrous financially. Hopefully the other cows would have similarly uncomplicated calvings.

They waited until the calf had nursed and was able to follow her dam before directing them back to the herd and then started back home again. Unfortunately, she'd been born at the time when the herd was furthest from the ranch house, and when the little calf seemed to be wearing out from the effort of trying to keep up despite the encouragement of her mother, Mark took it upon himself to give her a ride.

Will's horse was the first to top the rise behind the surging herd of cattle. He drew his horse to an abrupt stop, the alarm evident in his voice as he called back, "Joshua?"

Fearing the worst, Joshua immediately dug his heels into Dawson and it only took a couple of moments before he was at Will's side, Mark joining them a few seconds later. They all stared down the low rise at the ranch house, where the unfamiliar horse was tied up to the hitching post near the house. Much to all of their relief, Alice waited as usual on the front porch, her hand raised up to shield her eyes from the setting sun as she looked back at them. A rotund man levered himself to his feet, saying something to her as he moved to stand at her side.

"Ain't that Mr. McGregor? The president of the bank?" Mark asked worriedly. His voice stirred the little calf into struggling weakly where it was draped across his saddle, and the boy soothed it with his hands and a soft sound of comfort.

Joshua didn't respond right away. Instead his eyes flicked over the ranch, looking for any signs of trouble, before his gaze resettled on Alice. Nothing seemed out of place that he could tell.

William answered his brother, "Yeah, I'd recognize him from a mile away." Anxiously chewing his lip a moment, he glanced at Joshua and quietly noted, "Must be some kind of trouble to bring him all the way out here."

Drawing in a quick sharp breath, Mark fretted, "You reckon someone in town recognized you?"

Giving the boy a reassuring smile, Joshua shook his head and nudged Dawson into a slow walk. "You think if McGregor knew who I used to be, he'd be out here all by his lonesome to drag me back to town? He ain't that brave—or that dumb. If that'd been the case, there'd be lawmen or a posse waiting to greet us. Not one fat banker. If it's some kind of trouble, it's got something to do with that land I bought."

The brothers looked at each other and then clucked at their horses, easing in behind the man as they followed the cattle down the slope toward the house.

"You boys think you can get the cattle corralled while I go see what brings McGregor out our way?" he asked, sparing them a sidelong glance.

It may have been a request, but both William and Mark took it as an order. "Yes sir," they both said in turn, drawing their mounts away from him to ease in behind the cattle as the animals lumbered toward the open gate to the corral.

Joshua urged his black gelding into a lazy canter and rode directly up the house, and as he approached he could see the tension in Alice's shoulders and the slight tilt to her chin that indicated her irritation about something. However, to his relief, she didn't seem afraid, merely worried. It seemed his suspicions regarding the banker's visit were correct. The banker's appearance at the Evans ranch had nothing to do with Ben Wade.

"Evening, Miz Evans," he greeted the blonde woman first, with far more formality than was typical, politely tilting his hat at her before he directed a far more curt greeting at the Bisbee Bank's president. "McGregor." He tinged the other man's name with the barest hint of menace.

The balding man paled a little, coughing nervously before he stuttered, "Ev... evening Mr. Mason."

Alice gave her 'hired hand' a tight smile before her gaze shifted to watching William and Mark bringing the cattle in. Her eyebrows arched upward and she asked hopefully, "Is… is that what I think it is, riding in the saddle with Mark?"

Joshua grinned as he swung down from Dawson's back. "It sure is—congratulations. Calving season started today. It's a girl, by the way," he added, heading off the question before it was asked as he looped the gelding's reins around the post alongside the other horse.

She lifted a hand to her mouth and breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank the Lord." Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and it was as though a significant weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she stood a little taller, a little prouder than she had moments before. Beaming a watery smile at him, the relaxed lines of her face suddenly made her seem ten years younger.

Her change in demeanor made Joshua want to do nothing more than kiss her senseless and swing her around in his arms like a lovesick schoolboy.

Unfortunately, at the moment that wasn't an option, not with Milton McGregor standing at her side on the porch. The fat banker cleared his throat, interrupting the moment. "Er, Mr. Mason. I have some urgent news you need to hear—perhaps there's someplace we could talk in private…."

That instantly dampened Alice's mood, and she rolled her eyes irritably at McGregor. Defensively crossing and uncrossing her arms for an uncomfortable moment, she quietly announced, "I'll just…go check on supper, so you two gentlemen can finish your business in peace," and turned to go into the house.

Joshua gave the balding man a flat and unfriendly glare for causing that smile to fade from Alice's face, and growled, "I don't keep my business private from Alice, McGregor, and I trust her a damn sight more than I do the likes of you. Anything you got to tell me, she'll be hearing as well." Ignoring the other man's startled expression and sputtering sounds, he brushed past him to follow Alice into the house, removing his hat as he entered.

Inside, Alice gave Joshua a brief but appreciative smile for his firm inclusion of her in the impending discussion before she turned to busy herself with final supper preparations. He sat down in his usual chair at the head of the table, watching as she pulled the roast beef on the top of the stove to rest. The bread was already done, and as soon as the boys returned from tending to the cattle they'd be ready to eat.

A moment later, McGregor settled into Alice's usual chair at the opposite end of the table from Joshua. Sweating profusely for reasons that had nothing to do with the temperature in the house, the man dug into his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. He dabbed at his forehead and jowls, wiping the moisture away before tucking the damp cloth back in his pocket.

Alice joined them at the table, glancing to her left to meet Joshua's gaze for a long moment before they both turned their attention to the banker, who had finally started to speak.

Milton McGregor cleared his throat, his small eyes darting from Joshua to Alice as he announced, "Mr. Mason, I'm sorry but, well, there's just no point in beating around the bush on this. I expect by tomorrow, all of Bisbee will know you were the one who bought up Glen Hollander's spread."

Joshua bit back a furious curse. He'd suspected the banker's visit had something to do with the land purchase, but his news was particularly unwelcome. How the hell was he supposed to stay out of the public's eye if everyone in Bisbee saw him as a rich landowner? He could feel Alice's worried gaze on his face as he leaned menacingly toward the banker from across the table. "And what the hell possessed you to tell anyone? I thought I made it pretty damn clear what the consequences would be if that got out," he grated out.

The banker looked as though he were on the verge of fainting from sheer terror and stammered, "I know what you said… you were very clear in what you said... but I swear to you, I did not say a word to anyone. It was that gossipmonger Agnes Newsome, she's the cause of it all, I swear on my life…"

Alice straightened in her chair at the name and looked at the banker. "Agnes Newsome, the Reverend's wife?" she asked softly, her eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

Nodding vigorously, his head already glistening with sweat again, McGregor said, "Yes… the very same. She… she'd been asking about, trying to figure out who it was, and, well you know Agnes, once she's got her mind set on something, she's like a dog with…" He drew himself up short at that very accurate comparison and continued, "well, she's very persistent. She said it should be public record, that it couldn't be kept secret or that the land would be open to public use by homesteaders and miners and the like… And with Reverend Newsome being on the Bisbee town council, well, she got him to talk to Judge Redding and request that the records be released and…" The fat man shrugged helplessly.

"Goddammit," Joshua swore darkly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried his damndest to control his temper. He should have foreseen this happening. As much as he wished otherwise, the banker was right. Land transactions, no matter how big or how small, were all kept on record. Even if it wasn't a matter of public record, any city, territory or federal official would still have the legal right to read and review the official documents at will. He'd been so focused on getting the land to protect Alice and the boys, he hadn't taken the time to plot out every eventuality. And honestly, even if he had, the end result would have been the same—he still would have bought the land, he just would have been prepared for the publicity the purchase would bring.

"I swear I never told anyone. I tried to keep the official document secret for as long as I could." McGregor had the kerchief out again and was wiping his head with the wet square of fabric, fearfully staring at him.

Joshua exhaled slowly, still trying to clamp down on his temper when he felt Alice rest her hand lightly on his forearm, giving it a warm squeeze. The open display of affection and reassurance, especially that it was given in the banker's presence, caught him completely off guard. His rage subsided almost instantly with that simple gesture, and he opened his eyes to look at her as she earnestly said, "Mr. McGregor is right. Agnes Newsome, Lord love her, is like a dog with a bone. If she got it in her head that she wanted to know who bought that land, there'd be no stopping her. To make matters worse, I'm reasonably certain that she's the biggest gossip in the entire Arizona Territory. I doubt there's a soul in Bisbee that doesn't know who owns Hollander's land by now."

Nodding with resignation, Joshua sighed and a wry smile twisted his lips as he looked back at her. "So much for retiring to a peaceful and quiet life." She gave him a tiny smile and a helpless shrug, squeezing his arm again before quickly withdrawing her hand to drop down to her lap.

"Retiring from what?" McGregor asked curiously, a hint of speculation in his small piggish eyes as he looked between the man and woman. "I'm sorry, I just… I don't think you ever said exactly how you came by your wealth, and given that you're, well, just a cowhand…" The fat man's voice trailed off at the cold hard stare Joshua gave him, and he seemed to visibly recoil into his chair, squirming nervously and sweating like a stuck pig.

"He's a doctor. _Was_ a doctor, I mean."

All three adults looked in surprise at Mark as he came up behind McGregor. Joshua had been so intent on Alice and McGregor, he hadn't even known the youngster was in the house yet, and from her expression, neither had his mother. William was standing in the doorway to the house, kicking muck off his boots before he joined his brother.

"A doctor, eh?" McGregor's blinked a little at that revelation and turned back to the silent, rough-looking man at the other end of the table, regarding him dubiously.

William nodded, reaffirming his brother's words, "Yeah. Best doctor I ever known. He saved my life, did you know that? That bastard Glen Hollander shot me right here." The boy tugged at his shirt collar, pulling the fabric down just beyond his shoulder so that the banker could see the ugly red scar where the bullet wound had finally closed. "It got infected, and I nearly died. Actually I _would_ have died, if he hadn't been such a damn fine doctor, ain't that right, Ma?"

Alice hesitated before responding faintly, "Yes. Yes, that's right, he would have died, had it not been for Joshua." She clasped her hands together in her lap and looked down at them.

Joshua said nothing. Troubled, he traced a line in the wood grain of the table as the Evans family spoke on his behalf. Lied on his behalf. He'd always been willing to bend the truth to suit his needs, but having the Evans do it for him, to protect him, it just didn't settle well with him. Not that he'd ever ask them to lie for him or anything. In fact, he'd never asked them to do anything for him—the fact that they were willing to go to such lengths to protect his identity, well, he couldn't quite put a name to the emotion that was currently tightening his chest.

The bald banker adjusted his spectacles, pursing his lips at the sight of what had clearly once been a life-threatening injury. "I see. You're a lucky young man."

"He is," Mark immediately agreed, biting his lip to keep himself from saying more.

William nodded as well. "I am. We all are." He may have been answering McGregor, but Joshua could feel the boy's gaze on him as he spoke.

No one said a word for a long moment until Alice cleared her throat and asked politely, "Did you want to stay for supper, Mr. McGregor? I'm sure we have enough…"

The banker immediately pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head as he picked up his bowler hat. "No thank you. I've taken enough of your time, and I better be getting back to Bisbee."

Alice and Joshua stood as well. "Thank you for taking the time to stop by, Mr. McGregor," she said graciously, moving to stand beside her sons, who nodded at the banker with wary respect as he passed them on his way out.

Running his fingers through his short dark hair, Joshua escorted the rotund man outside and to his horse. He smirked, watching McGregor struggle to get up in the saddle and settle himself before bluntly saying, "Not that I don't appreciate you coming out here to give me a warning but I really don't want to see you out here again, 'lessin its, well, a life or death situation. You understand me?"

McGregor nodded so hard his hat almost fell off of his head. "Yes, I understand, Mr. Mason. I never would have come if it hadn't been so important. I just didn't want you coming to town all unawares and being caught off guard when people started treating you with the respect due your station, instead of as…" and here the man's nose wrinkled with something approaching disgust, "…well, just some ranch family's hired hand. Clearly, you being a wealthy doctor and landowner to boot, you're entitled to more than that. Men like you and I, we deserve to…"

"Don't lump me in with the likes of you, McGregor," Joshua bit out harshly. "You and I ain't entitled to nothing, and don't deserve to be treated any differently than anyone else just because we got money. Glen Hollander thought that, and look what it got him."

Clearly taken aback by his hostility, the banker blinked a little, his grip tightening on his horse's reins so much that the animal tossed his head and backed up a step or two, whinnying anxiously. "Well, er, you have a good night, Mr. Mason." When McGregor got no response, he lifted his bowler hat in a farewell and rode back to Bisbee.

Joshua went back into the house. Will and Mark had already finished washing up for supper and were setting out plates and forks as Alice poured everyone some water from the pitcher. He made his way over to the washbowl, dipping his hands into the cool water and rubbing them together before shaking them out a bit and drying them on the towel. No one really said much of anything as they all took their chairs and after Alice said grace, he finally glanced to his left at Mark, one eyebrow raised. "A doctor?"

The boy twirled his fork in his fingers before spearing a bit of beef and lifting it upwards, as he gave the man an impish grin. "Best one I know. Saved my brother's life."

"You're more of a doctor than Doc Hall ever was," William pointed out, his jaw set stubbornly.

He couldn't stop the slight smile that uplifted the corners of his mouth at their quick defense of him. His eyes settled on Alice, who seemed lost in thought as she ate her dinner, and he said, "Well, that may be, but I ain't so sure it makes me a doctor. And I'm not sure your Ma would appreciate you lying for me."

Alice went still and then moved her food around her plate for a moment, thoughtfully saying, "I'm not so sure they lied. Will's right—you're a far better doctor than Doc Hall is, and you've done some doctoring."

"That's semantics, Alice, and you know it. Doctoring one person don't make me a doctor."

She shrugged in response, but seemed unwilling to argue the point further as she focused on buttering her roll.

Mark scratched his tousled head for a moment and said, "God know though, right? If he forgives thieves and murders, he'll forgive us for lying too, if it comes down to it, 'specially since we're not really sure."

Joshua was amused by the boy's logic. "Just keep in mind, even though God is willing to forgive us for our sins, He probably didn't mean for it to be used as an excuse to keep on sinning."

"Amen," Alice immediately said, giving her son a stern look.

Alice could not have asked for better weather on Friday, the day that had been set aside to go into town to pick up supplies. The weather was crisp and cold, and there was even a light layer of early frost on the ground that morning when they woke up. Of course, by time the sun rose over the ridge to the east, it had already melted, but it looked to be a gorgeous fall day. There wasn't a cloud to be seen in the brilliant blue sky.

The problem was Alice had no desire to go into Bisbee. She was relatively sure that when they got there, people were certain to stop and stare at them, or ask a lot of questions that she wasn't inclined to answer.

And for Joshua in particular, anonymity was literally a matter of life or death. No one looked twice at a ranch hand, they were everywhere in the West. But now that people knew he had the money to buy up Hollander's land, and had at one time been a doctor of some wealth who had, for unknown reasons, given up a life of prestige to become, well, nobody—that made him far more of a curiosity. People being curious about who he was, it was dangerous, there just wasn't another way to put it. If she thought the townsfolk interest in him was going to be unbearable for her, she was absolutely certain Joshua would find it a hundred times worse.

By contrast, both of the boys were practically chomping at the bit. She couldn't really blame them—the rare trip into town was really one of the few reprieves they got from working on the ranch, and although they had returned to making weekly trips into town for church services on Sundays, hearing one of Reverend Newsome's hellfire and brimstone sermons rather put a damper on the visits.

At breakfast, Alice had just put the plates down on the table and taken a seat when Joshua quietly asked, "Will, you think you and Mark can help your mother get those supplies without my help?"

The boys, who had been chattering excitedly about the trip, were momentarily shocked into silence and everyone stared at him. A small curved his lips and though his tone was light, Alice could see a hint of unease in his eyes when he spoke, "I've just been doing some thinking, and I think it's best if I let things die down a bit before I make any more trips to Bisbee."

She couldn't help the expression of dismay that was on her face. Certainly what he was saying made absolute sense—he really didn't need to go into town when gossip was probably still buzzing around like bees caught in a bonnet, but even so, the prospect of going to town without him was something she had not even contemplated, it was so unpleasant.

Will must have caught sight of her expression, for he straightened a little in his chair and suggested quietly, "You don't need to go either, Ma, if you don't want to. Mark and I can go get the supplies by ourselves."

Alice hesitated, torn. On the one hand, sending the boys there alone had the potential to be like sending them into a lion's den, but at the same time, it was so very tempting. "I don't know…"

"Come on, Ma, if I can carry a hundred pound calf in my saddle, I'll be fine getting the feed bags, 'specially with Mark helping," William stated with a grin, clearly warming up to the idea more by the minute.

His words caused a smile to curve her lips—since that first calf (which had appropriately been named 'Hope') had been born on Monday, another nine of the distinctive white-faced calves had joined her. One had been still at birth and that was a shame, but even so, the half-blooded calves were surprisingly sturdy, able to keep up with the herd's movements within a day of being born.

Joshua's head was bowed down as he silently ate his breakfast. He glanced up briefly, and she could see the thin lines of worry on his forehead as he regarded her solemnly. If they hadn't been running out of much-needed staples such as feed grain and flour, none of them would be going, but they were, and so there wasn't really a choice.

Alice stared down at her grits and argued weakly, "William, there's not really much sense in both of us staying home though. Joshua can stay here, and I'll come with you."

Will sighed patiently, "Ma, I know you don't want to go. Hell I wouldn't be surprised if Agnes Newsome was waiting right there on the outskirts of town to waylay you as soon as we get there." He hesitated and admitted with a grin, "Besides, I was kind of hoping to get a look at the new library…"

A soft chuckle escaped her at his words and she shook her head. "I knew there had to be some other motive behind you wanting to go so badly." The Copper Queen Library had only recently opened, and excited did not even begin to describe her oldest son's enthusiasm when it came to seeing what books they had to offer.

Mark, who'd remained quiet until now, interjected, "We didn't get to go last time we were in town and we were thinking that maybe Will and I could have a look see… Instead of coming right back like we usually do."

"Well, either way," William continued, "I know neither of you want to go, and I figure maybe people won't be asking Mark and I quite as many questions 'bout Joshua the way they might you."

"Well, if you're sure..." Alice said slowly, a tinge of guilt coloring her tone.

"If they get too nosy, we'll hide in the library. And then we can just say we're not allowed to talk, cause you're not supposed to in a library, right?" Mark's grin was mischievous.

Joshua chuckled softly at that idea. "That just might work."

Will reassured her, "We'll be fine. And if anyone asks us about Joshua, we'll just keep saying what we said to Mr. McGregor, which is that he's enough of a doctor that he saved my life. You reckon that'll be enough to shut people up? Well, anybody but Mrs. Newsome, that is."

"I doubt it," Alice shook her head with a slight smile, "But perhaps they won't be so persistent with you two as they would with me. I'll give you the list of what all we need and some money, and you can leave around lunchtime."

By the time the boys rode were headed down the road to Bisbee, it was after lunch. Despite the beautiful day, it had never really warmed up significantly. The wind was picking up, so Alice pulled her shawl a little closer about her shoulders as she watched them from the front porch.

Joshua was splitting some logs by the woodpile, sweating beading his face despite the chill in the air, and when Alice lingered on the porch even after they had disappeared from view, she felt his eyes on her. She gave him a small smile, admitting, "It's not that I don't think they can get the supplies, I know they can. Agnes, however, is a force to be reckoned with, and I'm worrying more and more about how much she will badger them for more information about you."

Shrugging, he set a log upright on the stump and hefted the axe in his hands. "Will's seventeen, he can handle himself," he said reassuringly and swung the axe, splitting the wood neatly down the grain. Chuckling a little, he wiped sweat off his upper arm and added, "Hell, Mark's liable to talk her ear off, and from the sound of it, that'll be a blessing in and of itself."

She nodded, nibbling her lip anxiously. "Yes, but... what if he says the wrong thing? Or even worse, says too much?"

Joshua didn't seem concerned as he expertly swung the axe again. "He's smart as a whip, he's not going to slip up and say anything he shouldn't, especially not with Will there to keep him in check."

"I suppose you're right," she sighed dubiously, glancing back at the road.

He let the axe head drop to the ground, resting his palm on it as he bluntly said, "Alice, you can't keep them tied to your apron strings forever."

Alice stiffened at that, whipping her head around to say icily, "I do not keep them tied to my apron strings."

"Uh-huh. Sure you don't." Amusement tinged his response as he turned his attention away from her and split another log.

Muttering under her breath, she went back into the house to finish up cleaning, and her cheeks flushed with fury when she heard him chuckle behind her. Alice got over her fuming a short time later when it suddenly occurred to her that Joshua's needling had been deliberate—to distract her from worrying about her boys. She planned on confronting him about it when she carried the wash bucket outside to dump, but he was no where to be seen. The firewood has been neatly stacked in the wood shed.

Shivering at the wind's bite on her skin, she trudged over to the well and drew some water to refill the bucket. Turning back toward the house, she paused as she happened to glance at the sky. White puffy clouds now dotted the sky and the rising edge of a tall, dense cloud could be seen just beyond the ridges to the north. She frowned slightly. Arizona weather was known to change very rapidly, and that high reaching cloud top usually meant a storm was coming.

Shaking off vestiges of worry, Alice went back into the house. She was scrubbing the top of the stove with a scrub brush an hour later when she suddenly realized it had gotten significantly darker in the past few minutes. Turning up the lamps a bit to increase the amount of light in the house, she went out on the porch and to her dismay, the sky was now dark with clouds, which made the chill in the air even more pronounced.

It was going to rain—and very soon. And William and Mark were still in Bisbee. As if she needed something else to fret about.

Alice stood there, staring at the sky and lost in worrisome thoughts when Joshua's voice broke into her reverie. "You reckon they'll be back before it starts up?" He must have walked over from the barn.

Frowning, she shook her head. "I doubt it. It takes at least an hour just to get to town, and if William and Mark went to the library before going to the trading post—there's a good chance they don't even know the weather's changing. You know how Will gets once he starts reading, and Mark's nearly as bad now."

Lightning flickered in the distance, and another gust of wind blew cold across the land.

Joshua nodded and his expression was troubled as he said, "But Mark—his tuberculosis… an hour long ride in a cold rain…"

More than a little comforted by his obvious concern, Alice stated firmly, "Will and Mark both know better than to get out in the rain. It's happened before, a storm blowing up when we were in Bisbee. Jacob and Ethel Turner have been kind enough to keep us overnight on two separate occasions, I'm sure they wouldn't mind the boys staying with them. In fact, I'm sure they'll insist upon it." She said the words confidently but she'd be lying if she claimed to not be worried at all.

The next icy gust of wind that blew was strong enough to sweep Joshua's hat clear off of his head, and he let loose a curse before chasing after it. Luckily it was pinned against the edge of the porch just long enough for him to reclaim it, and he held it firmly in his hand as he joined her on the porch. "Let me help you refill the woodbin before I go back to the barn, no sense in you coming out here and getting drenched once the rain starts."

"Thank you," she said gratefully, and together, they brought in wood until the bin was nearly overflowing before Joshua went back out to the barn.

Lightning raced across the sky, and finally it started to thunder as well, but the rumbling sound seemed muffled by—something. But it didn't rain.

Alice went out on the porch and stared in disbelief it snowed in thick clumps of flakes that immediately began to stick to every surface they touched. More bolts of lightning flashed surprisingly close, followed almost immediately by the rumble of thunder and she realized the storm was nearly right overhead.

Her attention was so focused on the sky above that she didn't notice Joshua was near until he said, "The snow makes it so you can't hear the thunder until the storm is right on top of you."

"I didn't even know it could snow during a thunderstorm," she admitted.

He nodded, unsurprised. "Thundersnow. I've only seen it one other time myself. You know, Indians call winter the season when thunder sleeps."

She considered that for a moment and pointed out with a slight smile, "Yes, but it's not winter yet."

"The thunder ain't sleeping either," he said, grinning. The snow had already gathered in a layer along the brim of his cowboy hat. He squinted up at the sky. "We're liable to get a fair amount of snow before this storm passes."

"Do you really think so?" Alice asked with dismay. It rarely snowed in this part of Arizona, and when it did, it was never more than an inch or two at a time.

Joshua shrugged, "I wouldn't be surprised. Of course, it'll probably melt by noon tomorrow. Still, I think I'll get an early start on the feeding and watering, to be on the safe side." He paused and seemed on the verge of saying something else but shook his head instead before trudging back to the barn, his boots crunching on the gathering snow.

By the time supper was ready, the snow was already ankle deep. The thunder and lightning had moved on, but it was still snowing steadily. The meal passed in silence, not an uncomfortable one, but a thoughtful one. Despite the fact Joshua knew neither Will nor Mark would be foolish enough to be out riding in the snow, it didn't make him any better about not having them there. The small house seemed strangely empty. The chairs the boys usually sat in at the table were distinctly unoccupied and he almost missed listening to their quiet chatter during the meal.

He figured Alice was near about beside herself with worry but she hid it well beneath veiled eyelashes.

Joshua had just picked up his empty plate to carry over to the wash bin when Alice asked uncertainly, "Were… were you going to sleep in the barn tonight?"

The question caught him off guard. Where else would he sleep? "I'd planned on it, yes."

She flushed and wouldn't quite meet his eyes, but he could sense her unease. "I was thinking that, with the weather being so bad and the boys staying the night in Bisbee, well there's an empty bed here in the house…"

_Lead us not into temptation._ That segment of the Lord's Prayer suddenly came to mind as Joshua considered her invitation. The kisses they'd shared during stolen moments over the past three months had been better than nothing but each one left him aching for more, and it was getting very difficult to stop with just tasting her lips and feeling her soft body pressed against his. He felt like he had been doing pretty darned good in regards to not pressuring her into doing more than she was ready for, in regards to kisses and touches, but it was hard, especially for a man who was not use to wooing or waiting—not when it came to women, at least. For her, though, he was willing to wait as long as it took.

It helped, of course, finding privacy on the ranch was next to impossible with William and Mark around all the time. Will did his best to look the other way, and Mark was smart enough to know that something was going on, even though he had yet to say anything to Joshua about it. Sleeping under the same roof with her, even on the opposite side of the thin cabin walls, would certainly test the limits of his restraint. He gave her a slight smile and dropped his plate into the murky water. "I'm sure it'll be plenty warm enough in the barn. No need to worry about me."

Alice quietly said, "Please. I would appreciate the company—the house just seems so empty right now, and I…" She bit her lip, darting a quick glance up at him.

He hesitated, studying her for a moment and could see the anxiety in her green eyes. She was afraid of being alone in the house all night, he realized, wondering how he had not picked up on it sooner. "It would be nice to sleep in a bed," he admitted lightly and ran his fingers through his hair. "All right then, you talked me into it. Just as well, I wasn't really looking forward to plowing my way through the snow on the way to the barn."

Unconsciously, her shoulders relaxed and a smidgeon of that tension that had strained her face all day melted away with it. "Oh come now, the snow isn't all that deep. I'm sure you'd thaw out by morning," she scoffed with a small smile.

He put some more logs on the fire and stoked it to a crackling blaze while she did the dishes. The small cabin wasn't very well made and as a result, the heat from the fire was somewhat diminished by the draft coming in from outside. Joshua walked over to look out the window. The entire ranch was covered by a thick white blanket. The snowfall looked to have thinned out, but it was still coming down.

Alice walked over to peer out as well, drying her hands in a towel. "I've never seen it snow so early in the year—or so much at once, for that matter. The newborn calves will be all right though, don't you think?"

"I'm sure they'll be fine. They've got the advantage of being brought back here and fenced in every night, with food and water for them when they need it. Open range cattle won't be so lucky. If it's snowing this early down here in the Arizona Territory, well, it looks to be a bad winter."

She glanced up at him, "You think it's going to be a bad winter?"

Shrugging, he took his time in answering. "We haven't felt it so bad down here, but in Colorado, Kansas and Nebraska, it was really dry all summer. Prairie fires, waterholes drying up—like they did around here a couple years back. But William and I were noticing the cattle have already got their thickest winter coats—and it's not even been that cold until these last few days. We're going through a lot more feed, and it's not just because we've hit fall calving season. Birds are flying south for the winter a month earlier than usual, and I've seen some already that I've never seen this far south." Any one of those signs separately and it probably would not have been even worth mentioning. But all of them together, along with this unusually early and hard snowstorm were something that he wasn't willing to ignore.

"That does sound ominous. Hopefully the fact that we are this far south means we won't be nearly as affected as other areas of the West," she worried, wringing the towel in her hands.

He chuckled, pressing a finger into the condensation gathered on the windowpane and with a few swipes, sketched out the horned head of a bull. "You're assuming it'll be as bad as I'm making it out to be," he said with self-depreciating humor, trying to ease her concerns. "I'm still fairly new to this whole ranching thing, you know. Hell, I'm probably making a mountain out of a molehill."

"You would not have said anything if you didn't believe it were true," Alice pointed out seriously and he stared down at her, once again unable to help but be surprised by her apparent faith in him. "The weather today alone is extraordinary enough that it warrants attention and if we include the other things you've mentioned, well, certainly it can't hurt to hope for the best but prepare for the worst."

That line of thinking was exactly what had made him so successful at robbing stagecoaches for so long, but for some reason Joshua didn't think she'd appreciate him mentioning it. His eyes dropped down to her lips and he suddenly had an urge to kiss her. Something of it must have shown in his expression because she suddenly flushed, and the tinge of redness in her cheeks made her even more alluring. Despite the fact that she tilted her head upwards in wordless invitation, he forced himself to turn his head and look out the window instead and said only, "No, that definitely won't hurt."

An awkward silence passed and Alice cleared her throat, sounding almost disappointed when she spoke. "Well, I suppose I need to get the dishes put away." A brief moment later, she turned and went back into the kitchen.

Joshua followed her at a slower pace. His fingers almost twitched with the desire to pull her into his arms, and needing to do something else to keep them busy, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his leather bound journal. He sat down at the table in the chair closest to the fireplace and unwound the tie string that kept it closed. The small pencil was tucked into a loop of leather at the top. Withdrawing it, he flipped through the many pages filled with drawings he'd done over the past two months until he came to the first blank page.

It'd been a long while since he'd done any drawing around her—since that day she'd nearly caught him drawing a picture of what he imagined she'd look like nude. After that, he limited his scribbling to the times when he was alone in the barn, pulling from his memory, or when he was out on the range with one or both of the boys. Tonight though, without the idle chatter of Will and Mark to distract and usual mundane chores of the evening, he felt strangely restless. _Idle hands are the devil's tools,_ he thought to himself with dry amusement. Absently, he licked the tip of the pencil and started a new sketch.

Alice was through with cleaning up and put another log on the fire. She picked up the book _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ and sat down in the rocking chair to read. The soft creak of the chair and the crackling fire were the only sounds in the cabin.

He finished a little while later and glanced briefly over his shoulder at the blond haired woman, quietly turning the journal page to begin drawing another on the backside. The finishing shading had just been added to the new picture when he realized the rocking had come to a stop. Looking behind him, he saw that Alice had set her book aside and was rooting through the trunk that held the extra blankets. She grabbed up a couple of them in her arms and walked toward him, pausing as she brushed past his shoulder.

Joshua couldn't help it. His pencil stilled and his shoulders tensed minutely when he sensed her attention, but he moved his hand aside to let her see—after all, the sketch was of her. With clothes on this time, fortunately.

She inhaled sharply when she saw the simple image of her sitting in the rocking chair reading, her face relaxed and a slight smile curving her lips.

"That bad, eh?" he said lightly, flicking the pencil against the tabletop.

Making an exasperated sound, Alice shook her head and informed him, "I think you're just fishing for compliments." She set the blankets down on the table and her face was alight with curiosity when she gestured at the journal, "May I see? If you don't mind, that is?"

Wordlessly, he offered it up to her and rested his elbow on the table, watching her face. A wide gamut of emotions played over her delicate features as she flipped through the pages one by one, ranging from thoughtful to amused to surprised, though he couldn't imagine which one would have gotten that reaction. When she reached the last page, she closely studied the sketch of herself and shook her head, lightly saying, "I've come to the conclusion that your drawings of me seem to be somewhat skewed, as though you were wearing rose-colored glasses."

Amused, he asked, "Why do you say that?"

She lowered the journal and pointed at the drawing he'd just finished, of her sitting in the rocking chair. It was one of his best sketches of her yet, he thought, because he'd managed to capture the play of light and shadow coming from the fire and the upward turn of her lips in that smile. "I don't really look like this," she said firmly. "There's no wrinkles, and, well, you've made me too… pretty."

Joshua gaped and threw his head back in laughter, unable to help himself. "Now who's fishing for compliments?" he teased, his blue-green eyes dancing with good humor. Propping his cheek in his hand to peer up at her, he commented, "I can't figure if you're trying to tell me I can't draw, or that I just don't know a beautiful woman when I see one."

Blushing, she shook her head and handed the journal of drawings back to him. "Of course you can draw, your pictures of William and Mark are proof of that. The likeness is simply amazing."

"I see, but when I draw you, I'm just prettying you up." He couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief at that notion, and reached out to capture her hand in his. "When I put the pencil to paper, I try to draw exactly what I see—or remember seeing—and I think I've drawn you just as you appear to be. No matter what you think, Alice Evans, you are a beautiful woman, and any man worth his salt is going to think the same as I do."

Alice's cheeks flushed darker and she ducked her chin down a touch, accepting his compliment with a murmured, "Thank you." Without warning, she rested her hand on his shoulder and leaned down to brush her lips over his in a soft kiss.

Surprise kept him from reacting more than anything else, because despite the many achingly brief kisses they'd shared over the previous weeks, he had always been the one to initiate it—which was another reason why he worried that he was pushing her too far too fast. She drew her lips away from his a few inches and she seemed nearly as surprised by the gesture as he had been. A long moment passed and when she pulled her hand free of his, he reckoned that was the end of it. Instead she lifted it up to cup the side of his face and kissed him again, slipping the tip of her tongue gingerly along his lips in a probing motion that made his stomach tighten and other parts of him begin to stand at attention.

Opening his mouth to receive the tentative sweep of her tongue, he wrapped his lips around it and sucked lightly on the tip. Her breath hitched as a result and she made a soft sound of approval, moving her hand around to run through his short dark hair. The feel of her lips and sensual slide of her fingers along his scalp made his pulse quicken and he released her tongue so he could slide his own along hers, tasting her lips and mouth. Her lips curved against his in a smile and she pulled away from just far enough to murmur against his lips, "I think you're about due for another hair cut," her fingers lightly drawing at his hair and feeling the length.

Chuckling, he admitted, "I gotta say, it wasn't nearly as enjoyable having the barber in town do it—and it set me back two bits each time as well, I'll have you know."

"That much, eh?" Alice clicked her tongue in disapproval. "You poor thing, you must be so broke you can't pay attention," she teased, moving her hand around to his cheek again, idly rasping her thumb over the stubble there.

He took her hand in his larger one, kissing her knuckles tenderly. "Oh no, believe me, you have my complete and undivided attention right now," he assured her, feeling as though every inch of his aching body was attuned to her touch.

She studied his face and after a moment's hesitation, straightened upright before him again. Tightening her fingers, she gave his hand a slight tug to encourage him to his feet as well.

Joshua gave her an inquiring look when she let go and then went still at the feel of her hands sliding up his chest. They paused at the edge of his collar and then she began to undo his shirt, one button at a time. "Alice," he breathed, uncertain.

"Yes?" she immediately responded, peeking up at him from beneath lowered lashes, her cheeks pink at her own audacity.

God, he didn't want her to stop. She'd barely even started removing his clothes and anticipation already had his pulse racing, his entire body taut as a bowstring. But he had to know. "Are you sure?" he asked carefully, easing the knuckles of his hand beneath her chin to lift it up so he could look full into her eyes.

There was nervousness there, and desire, even determination, but no fear as she nodded and said simply, "I want this. I want you—and I have for a while." Her fingers suddenly faltered in working another button free, "Unless you don't want to…" she stammered, her face turning red with dismay and consternation.

Joshua almost laughed at her sudden fear, of all things, that he might not want her. Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply, showing her his desire with lips and tongue, letting her feel it in the press of his lean aching body against her own. They were both breathless and flushed when he stopped and asked roughly, "You still think I don't want to?"

"No, I think that was quite compelling evidence to the contrary," she admitted, blushing, and focused her attention on removing his shirt again. The last button was finally undone and she immediately began to push it over his shoulder until he shrugged his arms free. One of his hands slid up her back to her hair, fingers pulling at the ribbon that kept it up until the long luxuriant length was freed. He immediately twined his fingers in those thick, blonde tresses, trailing a line of kisses from her lips along the curve of her jaw to her ear. Gently, he nibbled at her ear lobe and she moaned with unexpected pleasure at the sensation.

Tugging at his undershirt, Alice lifted it up enough for her to slide her cool hands along the heated bare skin of his back. The sudden yearning to feel her naked flesh against his own made him pull back and begin working lose the long line of buttons to her dress, pausing now and again to brush his knuckles lightly over her pert breasts through the fabric. She retaliated by shifting her hands around to his chest, splaying them out as she pushed his shirt up.

He withdrew himself from her touch long enough to pull it off with a quick and impatient gesture and sat down in the chair to take his boots off as well, watching while she stepped out of her dress. Clad in nothing but her chemise and drawers, she flushed at his heated gaze and modestly crossed her arms over her chest. He stood up, taking the two steps to reach her side again and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close to his naked chest. She shivered at the sudden warmth of his body against hers and now that he was wearing nothing but his trousers, he could feel the cold draft coming from the open doorway leading to the bedroom.

He kissed the top of her head and murmured with quiet amusement, "I think you pulled one over on me."

She stiffened slightly, tilting her head so she could look up at his face and quirked an eyebrow when she saw his expression. "How so?"

"I just now figured it out. You really just want me up here because the bedroom's colder than a welldigger's ass, and you want to steal all my body heat so you can stay warm."

Laughing, she hugged him tightly and nestled even closer to his broad chest. "The bedrooms do get very chilly at night," she confessed with a smile.

He considered that for a moment and then guided her over to stand in front of the fire place, dropping a kiss on her forehead. Disentangling himself from her embrace, he made his way back into the kitchen, picking up the blankets she'd left on the table. He ducked into the chilly bedrooms long enough to gather up a pair of quilts and a knitted throw as well before returning to her side in front of the fire and spreading them all out on the floor. After throwing a couple more logs onto the fire, he took her by the hand again and drew her down with him onto the cushion of warm blankets, cuddling her close to his side.

In the flickering light of the fire her hair was the color of burnished gold. Joshua twined one lock loosely around his finger and then leaned to kiss her slowly, savoring the taste of her lips and vanilla fragrance that perfectly blended with the heady scent that was uniquely hers.

Alice glided her hands over the broad expanse of his back, massaging and kneading the muscles there and in a moment of boldness, darted her tongue into his mouth to tease alongside his with a wet sweep of motion. He inhaled sharply, his arm tightening beneath her shoulders to pull her even closer. Untwining his finger from her hair, he started to ease his hand over the sensitive skin at her collarbone and then lower still to her breast. Gently he cupped it through the thin cotton of her shift, sliding the pad of his thumb over her stiffening nipple. She gasped aloud at the jolt of desire that coursed through her body to settle in her lower belly, smoldering there.

When he heard her reaction, he couldn't resist rolling her erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Shuddering in response, she drew her mouth away from his and buried her face in the crook of his neck, kissing him with butterfly light brushes of her lips. His pulse raced beneath her mouth's soft touch. He gave her breast another light squeeze and she squirmed restlessly, inadvertently rubbing her hip along the heated length of his arousal that strained against the front of his pants. Groaning, he moved his hand down to her hip, his fingers catching up in the trailing edge of her chemise as he pulled her even closer.

She went still momentarily at the hard press of his erection and that aching desire burgeoning in her lower stomach burned even hotter. Working her hands around to the front of his chest, now she was the one to lightly brush her fingertips over his flat, masculine nipples. Experimentally, she slipped her leg around his and rocked her hips into him in a slow, rolling motion.

The double dose of sensation made Joshua draw in a ragged breath and he struggled to retain his grip on the tattering remnants of his self control. He could not ever remember wanting anything as much as he did this woman. Lowering his head, he kissed her deeply and started to slide the thin cotton shift upwards. They drew apart long enough to pull it over her head and when he pulled her into his arms again, her drawers were the only remaining piece of clothing she still wore. Warm breasts pressed directly against his hot flesh, making him shiver and yearn to feel all of her against him and around him.

A quiet sound of approval escaped Alice when her nipples slid along his bare chest and she shifted her shoulders minutely to prolong the feeling. That erotic heat still pulsed deep within her and hesitantly, she moved her hands down to the waist of his pants and she felt his stomach immediately tighten at her touch. Her breath caught with nervousness as she fumbled with the fastenings, working them undone one by one, pushing his pants out of the way enough to free his straining shaft.

_If she stops now, she may as well shoot me—it'd be a mercy killing_ , he thought to himself, struggling to slow his heart that raced with anxiety and need in equal amounts. The feel of her fingers wrapping around him took his breath away. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips over her flushed cheek and started to work her drawers off, desperately hoping the simple action would help distract him from what her wandering hands were doing. Tentatively she glided her fingers along his pulsing erection, measuring his length and girth with gentle strokes that had him helplessly rocking his hips forward to thrust himself into her hand.

When she paused to slip the rest of the way out of her underwear, he gently took her hands in his and pulled them away from his rigid flesh. "If I let you keep doing that for much longer, I'll be finished before we ever get started," he told her with a tender grin, his eyes crinkling with both humor and desire.

Flushing, she nodded her head and watched as he lifted his hips up enough to shuck his pants and long johns off and kick them away. She drew in a quick breath when he settled the length of his naked body alongside hers again and cradled her close, his arousal throbbing against her stomach. Shivering with anticipation, she scooted a bit closer to him and slid her calf along his well-muscled leg until her sex brushed against him.

He had to bite back a groan at the damp heat coming from her and slid his hands down her lithe body from her shoulders to cup her rump. When she lifted her chin, he kissed her again until they were both writhing with their desire for one another. They were very nearly past the point of no return and though he didn't want to ask, at the same time he cared enough about her that he couldn't _not_ ask. "Alice," he said quietly, cupping her face with one hand. "If you've changed your mind about this, I need to know now, because from here on out…it'll be damn near impossible for me to stop…" Grimacing, he admitted ruefully, "Hell I think it'll near about kill me to stop right now."

Her green eyes softened at his concern and she knit her fingers in his hair, drawing his head down to give him a firm kiss. "Then don't stop," she murmured huskily against his lips. Resting her palm on his shoulder, she pushed against it until he lay flat on the cushion of blankets and then swung her leg over his hips to straddle him. Shifting her body, she edged upwards until her wet folds slid along the underside of his erection and she shuddered at the feel of him pulsing so close to her hot, aching core.

"Damn, woman, you are trying to kill me," he rasped, one hand gripping her thigh and the other sliding up over her smooth flesh to squeeze her breast, pulling and plucking at her nipple teasingly.

Whimpering as another surge of sheer pleasure zinged through her body, she began to rock her hips against him insistently, wanting him, needing him. She leaned down to kiss him enthusiastically and as she did, he moved his hands to her hips, positioning her just so, and when she rose up from the kiss and shifted her weight back onto his hips again, he entered her slowly, groaning at the feel of her velvety slick walls enfolding him after waiting so long.

Once he had filled her completely, they both had to pause to catch their breath. The reprieve was short lived though, as she started to move, achingly slow at first and then with increasing speed. She'd never looked more beautiful to him than she did now, her entire body cast in light and shadow from the fire's scintillating glow, blond hair cascading around her shoulders and God, her expression—the sight alone was very nearly enough to push him over the edge. When he slid his hand down between them to brush his thumb over that sensitive nub of flesh, she moaned passionately and rode him harder, faster, until she cried out with exquisite bliss as she came, shuddering helplessly. Feeling her clench and spasm around him, he could hold back no longer and shouted her name, bucking his hips up as he followed her, tumbling into ecstasy.

She fell forward onto his chest and he immediately wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close and brushing tender kisses over her face while their hearts and breath slowed down. The fire had died down and the small house was starting to get chilly again. Joshua settled her down on the blankets and forced himself to pull away from her long enough to put more wood on the fire. He tugged one of the quilts up enough to cover them both when he settled in behind her, spooning, his chest to her back and arms keeping her pulled lightly against him.

Even then, he could not stop himself from stroking his hands over her smooth, lovely body, long after her breathing had become deep and steady in her slumber. His face rested on the long tresses of her hair and he lightly nuzzled the nape of her neck until his own lids begin to droop. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was pressing a soft kiss just behind the curve of her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia  
> I couldn't help it. The irony of Chapter 13 also being titled "Love" was too good to pass up. For those of you who don't go to church, in the Bible, First Corinthians Chapter 13 is commonly referred to the 'Love Chapter'—it is entirely about love, though not in a romantic sense.  
> The winter of 1886-87 was a particularly hard winter in the United States. The things Joshua has noticed in this chapter, cattle eating more, growing thicker coats, birds migrating further south than normal, all of them were indicators that a particularly hard winter was coming. Unfortunately, most of those signs were ignored. The extreme weather conditions were a major contributing factor to the fall of the Cattle Baron era and the end of the Open Range, as thousands of cattle died in West in frozen herds or starved to death, unable to dig through the snow to the food beneath.  
> It's believed that the phrase 'rose colored glasses' does not actually refer to peering through eyeglasses, but rather, peering through the end of a wine-bottle or whiskey bottle while drinking to view the world.  
> Thundersnow does exist, and is very rare. It's basically a thunderstorm in which snow falls as precipitation instead of rain.  
> Union Jacks are impossible to make sexy. I'm sorry—I fudged realism for the first time in my story in favor of 2 piece long johns with a separate top and bottom, which didn't make an appearance until around 1900. I bet most of you would not have ever known had I not confessed though!  
> The Copper Queen Library is the oldest library in Arizona. It started in 1882 in the Copper Queen Mercantile Store. In 1885 it got a building of it's own on Main Street. It probably should have featured earlier in my story before now but I actually for some reason had thought that the library didn't open until 1887, a year after the setting of Beyond Contention.


	14. Hope, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ridiculously long chapter, that had to be broken into 2 sections.
> 
> Joshua and Alice adjust to the changes in their relationship, and the changes it's made in Will and Mark's perceptions of them.

Alice awoke to the warm feel of Joshua's body still pressed against her from behind, his hand rubbing up and down her side in a soothing caress. His gentle strokes slowed when she stretched in his arms, still feeling the languid satisfaction of their lovemaking though she could tell a few hours had passed. When she felt his tender kiss on her shoulder, she smiled and opened her eyes. The embers glowed in the fireplace, and even though it still felt too early for her to get up and start the day, the interior of the house seemed to be cast in the cool gray light of pre-dawn.

"Is it already morning?" she whispered with surprise.

His cheek rasped across her skin when he shook his head, murmuring, "Not for a few more hours." He kissed her again on the nape of her neck while his hand resumed its slow movement up and down her side, and she shivered in reaction. "Are you cold?" he asked and without waiting for her reply, eased away from her. Careful to keep the thick layer of blankets over her, he slipped out from beneath them and got up to add more wood to the fireplace.

The sudden absence of his warmth and presence had her shivering for entirely different reasons. "Well, I am now," she complained with a smile. He laughed at that as he threw a log onto the fire, completely unconcerned about his nakedness, though she imagined he had goose bumps rising all over his skin from the chill in the air.

Watching from beneath lowered lashes, she admired his well-muscled body, heat rising in her cheeks at the memory of how he had felt so close against her. He happened to glance over his shoulder and caught her ogling him. Of course, she immediately averted her eyes, which made him chuckle again. "Look all you want, I know I do my fair share of staring at you," he said with a wink.

That made her flush even darker with both embarrassment and pleasure. He stoked the hot cinders and the room was lit up even more when the wood caught fire. Alice craned her neck, trying to see out the dingy window enough to tell how much snow had fallen. That effort proved fruitless, so she rose to her feet, wrapping one of the quilts around her as a heavy floor length shawl, and made her way over to look out the window.

There was a good six inches of snow on the ground, and more piled up here and there in drifts where the wind had blown it. The storm seemed to have finally moved off to the west, taking the clouds with it. The waning moon's light reflected off the crystalline surface of the snow, explaining why it seemed lighter outside than usual despite the early hour. She could see the cattle over by the barn, huddled in groups to stay warm, some laying down in the snow to sleep. Their movements and occasional lowing indicated that they were no worse the wear for the unusual weather.

The quilt was nowhere near heavy enough to keep her warm so close to the drafty window, and her teeth began to chatter. Joshua came over to her bearing a second blanket, which he tossed over her shoulders before easing the edges of the fabric from her hands long enough to join her beneath it. The lingering heat from stoking the fire still warmed his body and she leaned into his embrace, hugging his arms closer as he wrapped them around her chest from behind.

They stood there for a few moments, staring out the window. "If it's like every other snowfall I've seen in this part of the territory, it'll melt before noon," he reassured her, his lips brushing against her ear.

She nodded, leaning her head back to rest against his shoulder with a sigh. In the ten years she had lived in Arizona, it was true that she couldn't remember the snow lasting even one day before melting, but she'd also never seen it snow so much in one storm-or so early in October, for that matter, so she couldn't quite suppress the tinge of worry. Her teeth had stopped chattering due to his warmth, but she was still shivering from the draft, and he gently pulled her away from the window.

"I went through all the trouble of stoking those coals, and you're not even making good use of it," he chided her and then led her back to the cushion of blankets spread out in front of the fireplace. Together, they laid back down in front of the blazing fire. She tried to settle comfortably on the blankets but the heat coming from the flames was enough that now, the quilts covering her were too much, especially with the added body heat coming from Joshua who was stroking his hand up and down her side again. When she reached a point where she felt like she was sweating, she'd had enough. She sat up, throwing the blankets off before she laid back flat, resting her head on her hand as a pillow and closed her eyes with a sigh of relief as the heat coming from the crackling fire was tempered by the draft's chill.

"Better now?" he asked, amused. Shifting to lay on his side, he propped his head up with one hand, pressing the length of his body against her side. His other hand continued its wandering, drifting from her shoulder down the inside of her arm and then just beneath her breasts to lazily encircle her navel.

Alice could feel her stomach tighten and her nipples perk up from his gentle yet sensual touch, and a flush warmed her body even more. "You're staring at me," she accused and opened her eyes to look up at him.

He smiled at that, his gaze following the path his hand was tracing over her flesh. "Turn about is fair play. Besides, I can't help it," he admitted, and leaned over to press a tender kiss to her lips. "You, Alice Evans...are a very... beautiful... woman." The pauses were punctuated by kisses, each one slower and deeper than the last, while his fingers wandered up to trace a lazy circle around one nipple.

Barely stifling a whimper of pleasure at his caress, she murmured, "Flattery will get you nowhere," against his lips and brought her hand up to run her fingers through his dark hair.

"That's all right, I've got something else in mind," he told her, his voice rough with desire and growing arousal hot against her hip, and began to kiss and nibble his way down her body, starting at the edge of her mouth and then going over the edge of her jaw and down the sensitive skin on her neck.

He made love to her again, his lips and hands exploring every inch of her body with such exquisite care that it bordered on reverence.

When she woke up, there was no doubting it was well past the time she usually started her days. The morning sun was already shining in through the windows, though judging from the angle of the light, it was only just after sunrise. Joshua was still asleep, one arm and leg still draped over her. A smile curved her lips as she remembered how wonderful the night had been, and she turned to face him, giving him a light kiss. He stirred but his eyes remained closed.

Alice brushed his lips again with her own, whispering, "Rise and shine."

This time he responded, his arms tightening around her. "Good morning."

The kiss grew deeper and after a few moments, she made herself draw back and smiled up at him. Shifting against his erection, she informed him with a raised eyebrow, "This is not what I meant by 'rise and shine'."

"Well, you should be more specific."

Giggling, she gave him one last peck on the lips and began to ease out of his embrace. "Come on, we can't lay around all day, as tempting as that is." And it was very tempting indeed, but there was just too much work to do on a given day that she was willing to put it off for long. His arms tightened briefly before he released her with a resigned sigh, laying back to watch as she located her chemise and pulled it over her head.

She considered putting her drawers on before deciding against it. They were due for cleaning anyway, as was her dress. Both were gathered up and tossed into the dirty clothes basket for Wash Day. She collected Joshua's clothes as well, doing her best to ignore the fact that he was still laying on the makeshift bed, watching as she moved around the chilly room. An impish grin was the only warning he had before she dropped them right onto his chest. He made an exaggerated 'oof' of sound, but laughed and began to get dressed as well.

The morning passed quickly, Alice settling into her normal morning routine of washing up and cooking breakfast, while Joshua added Mark and William's chores to his own. The air outside was cold and fresh, with the sun shining warm enough that the snow already seemed to be melting away little by little. That was a relief, because it meant that Mark and William's trip back from Bisbee would be an uneventful one, aside from the usual hazards traveling down a muddy road would bring. The blankets shared the night before were aired out on the line while she cooked breakfast. When he brought Pansy's milk pail inside, he set it on the table and gave her an affectionate hug from behind while she flipped the sausage. She enjoyed his embrace, unable to remember the last time when she'd felt such simple contentment and could not quite stifle the disappointment she felt when he released her so he could return to the barn.

The day just seemed to get better and better when he told her that two more calves had been born during the night as they sat down to eat.

"How long before you reckon the boys will get back?" he asked while spreading butter on top of a biscuit.

She smiled, answering, "If they stayed with the Turners, and I'll be very surprised if Ethel didn't insist on that, she'll make sure they get a good breakfast before letting them get on their way. The road's liable to be nothing but slush and mud, but I imagine they'll be back here around nine or so."

Nodding, he said, "Yeah that's about what I figure as well." Spearing a bit of sausage with his fork, he asked, "You gonna tell them about us?"

A flush rose in her cheeks at the thought of her sons knowing what had transpired the previous night. "No, I didn't plan on it."

He studied her face, chewing his food more slowly. A slight smile quirked his lips, and he reminded her, "I thought you said you didn't keep secrets from them."

"Well, I did say that, but this is different," she insisted while stirring some egg into her grits. Certainly there was a huge difference between admitting to her children that she'd taken Joshua on as a lover and telling them she'd been forced to buy the deed to their homestead.

He sighed. "Alice, I'm not saying they need an entire rundown of everything we did last night, but don't you think we're both getting a little too old to be stealin' kisses together behind the woodshed?"

She couldn't deny that it was rather ridiculous, the way that they'd been sneaking about, but at the same time she couldn't imagine how to even begin to tell William and Mark about her relationship with Joshua-if it could even be called that. She was almost certain Will knew something was afoot anyway, but coming right out and telling them was another thing entirely. "It is, and I do think we should let them know about our, well, about us, sooner or later. I'm just saying that we need to pick the right time to do so, is all. We'll just," she gestured with one hand, "play it by ear."

"Play it by ear," he repeated thoughtfully. She could tell he wasn't satisfied with her answer, but she breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded. "All right. We'll do that."

Alice had just pulled the blankets off the clothes line and carried them back inside to store away when Will and Mark returned just before nine, as she had predicted. The wagon they were riding in was heavily laden with the much-needed supplies. Mark hopped from the wagon and ran up the steps to the porch to give his mother an enthusiastic hug. His brother, older and more reserved, was no less glad to be home, but just smiled and tipped his hat.

The coffee, sugar, flour, and other foodstuffs were carried inside and stored away in the pantry and root cellar, and then Joshua and the boys went out to the barn to unload the feed grain. Will had the good fortune to encounter a family traveling through Bisbee on their way from New Mexico to California, who sold him a basket of pecans. They still needed a week or so more to dry out, but they were a rare treat. As well, a pecan pie would make an excellent gift for Ethel and Jacob Turner, who had indeed put up the boys for the night.

Dinner was on the table by the time they had finished putting all of the grain away and caught up on their chores. A quick prayer was said over the ham, sliced cheese and boiled cabbage before they ate. Alice ate, listening to Will and Mark trade off talking about their trip, the library and the surprising snow storm. Bisbee, despite being only ten miles away as the crow flies, had only received four inches of snow instead of the six they'd gotten at the ranch. Even so, it'd been enough to turn the roads downtown into an icy mess. The two brothers seemed to have had a grand time staying overnight with the Turners though, staying up reading the books they'd borrowed from the Copper Queen Library and eating Ethel's fresh-baked cookies.

"What'd you two do last night?" Mark asked curiously.

Alice almost choked on her food and Joshua, the wretch, gave her a broad grin from the opposite end of the table before stuffing a large piece of ham into his mouth. She'd be getting no help there. After wiping her mouth with her cloth napkin, she answered, "The same things we do when you're home. Chores, ate supper, cleaned up, and then relaxed with a book by the fire. Joshua drew for a bit-a picture of me, in fact. Isn't that right?" She could only hope her face wasn't as red as it felt and lifted her cup to take a sip of water.

The boy accepted her answer, turning to Joshua, "Really? Can I see the picture too?"

"Yep, that's right. Sure, I'll show you after lunch," he said agreeably, his blue-green eyes brimming with mirth. "A regular ol' Friday night. Chores, food, a bit of drawing and an evening spent relaxing in front of the fire."

She coughed, valiantly struggling to maintain her composure, and set her drink back down before leveling a dirty look toward the opposite end of the table.

Will, who had been focusing on eating his food, glanced up at his mother and his fork stilled. He regarded her with suspicion for a moment and shifted his gaze to Joshua, who was not even trying to hide his amusement at the innuendo. Then he sat straight up in his chair with sudden awareness. Moving the cabbage on his plate around, he said, "I bet it was pretty cold, sleeping in the barn last night," as he darted a look between the two adults.

Alice didn't trust herself enough to address that comment, and concentrated on eating more of her lunch.

The smile remained on Joshua's face, but he assessed Will's expression for a moment before replying, "Actually your ma was gracious enough to let me sleep here in the house last night." That, of course, earned him another quelling glare from her.

"Really? So you slept in Will's bed?" Mark inquired, nibbling on the last bit of cheese on his plate. Even though William had recovered from his bullet wound, he was still sleeping in the bed he'd recuperated in, while his mother and brother continued to share the other bed in the house.

"No, I slept on the floor, in front of the fireplace. It was right comfortable, with the extra quilts and, well, everything else," he said cheerfully.

She refused to even look at him and picked up the knife to cut the ham on her plate into bite-sized pieces.

Sulking at that, Mark gave his mother a frown of accusation as he said, "You've never let _me_ sleep on the floor in front of the fire."

Will just blinked.

His shoulders shaking with barely restrained laughter, Joshua's eyes met hers from the other end of the table, and his grin was so infectious it was almost impossible to hold on to her anger with the utterly ridiculous turn the conversation had taken. She shook her head with exasperation as he shoveled in the last couple bites of his food and got to his feet. Tossing his plate into the wash bin, he grabbed his hat from the back of the chair said to the two brothers, "If we want to get the herd some range time before lunch, we need to get a move on."

Relieved at the notion that she might be able to eat the rest of her lunch in relative peace, she watched in silence as Mark and Will ate the remainder of food on their plate. The twelve-year-old was still chewing when he got to his feet, and picked up his cup to take a last swallow of water.

Joshua paused by her chair, holding his hat in one hand and running his hand around the wide brim with the other. "Alice."

"Yes?" she responded warily, tilting her head to look up him.

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that took her breath away. The sound of Mark's plate clattering to the floor dimly registered, and when the former outlaw finally broke the kiss and withdrew, his eyes were bright with mischief. "Just playing it by ear." He straightened back up, put his hat on, and sauntered outside, calling, "Come on, you two, them beeves ain't gonna wait all day."

Utter silence reigned in the house for a long moment, and Alice's face felt on fire with embarrassment as her sons stared at her, and then each other. She finally found her voice and demanded, "Well? Are you two going to stand there all day lollygagging?"

"No ma'am," Mark said in a rush of words, a broad grin on his face. He picked up his plate off the floor and dropped it into the dishwater before grabbing his hat and coat and hurrying out the door.

William remained seated to her right and after a moment, reached out and took her hand. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he asked worriedly, "Ma? Ma, you ok?"

Her fingers tightened around his when she saw the concern in his eyes, and she gave him a genuine smile, assuring him, "Yes, William, I'm ok. In fact, I'm... I'm better than ok. I'm good. I'm fine."

He studied her face, looking for any hint of prevarication. Finding none, he nodded once, giving her a lopsided smile that almost brought tears to her eyes. Then he stood without haste, carried his plate around the table to the wash bin and eased it in before heading outside to join the others.

After being forced to spend the previous day penned up in the corral instead of roaming around, the cattle seemed restless and more than eager to spend the remainder of that day out grazing. It was almost high noon, and with winter approaching and the days getting shorter, they'd only be able to get in about six hours of good grazing time before they had to head back to the ranch. Even so, that was better than nothing.

There was no room for idle chatter as they started out, Joshua and Will working as outriders to guide the herd in a general westward direction, and Mark, the trailing rider, kept them moving along at a steady pace. The sun had been shining all day but it wasn't quite warm enough to melt all of the snow, and as the cattle and horses passed over it, their hooves churned it into a slushy muck.

When they reached a flat, open stretch of land, Joshua steered Dawson away from the herd, watching the two brothers do the same. The livestock immediately slowed and began to graze, the older and wiser cows pawing at the snow-covered ground with their hooves to get at the grass beneath.

Joshua loosened his reins and stretched out his fingers. He had gloves on but his fingers were still pretty cold. Neither of the boys had said anything about the kiss he'd given Alice before they left, but it wasn't like they'd had much opportunity to do so, spread out as they were while driving the cattle. Will had said his piece on the matter a few months back, but Joshua had no doubt he'd lingered in the house a while longer to make sure his ma was happy with the turn their relationship had taken. Whatever she told him must have met with his acceptance, because when the seventeen-year-old had come outside, he'd done nothing more than give a slight nod of acknowledgement before tacking up his bay horse.

Shaking his head, he squinted up at the sky for a moment, and commented to Will and Mark when they drew near, "Sun's about as high as it's gonna get and it's still daggum cold."

"It ain't too bad here out in the open," Will remarked, scratching his shoulder.

Mark didn't say anything, and that alone was enough to make Joshua take a closer look at boy, who under normal circumstances could near about talk the ears off of a billy goat. He'd been all grins after lunch but had grown increasingly thoughtful the longer they were out on the range. Despite the chill, the air was cold and dry, so there didn't seem to be much cause to worry about his tuberculosis. Still, it didn't hurt to be on the safe side, and so he asked, "Mark? You all right?"

Instead of answering, the boy studied him for a long moment and then had a question of his own. "Are you and Ma gonna get married?"

Joshua found himself at a loss for words. Dawson shifted beneath him and he took the opportunity to recollect the reins and his ability to speak. A slight smile touched the corner of his lips and he answered lightly, "No, we haven't talked about it." In all honesty, he and Alice hadn't done a lot of talking at all. They'd been too occupied with other things-or too short of breath to speak.

Will's expression was thoughtful as he looked between the other two.

"But you're courting her now, right? Since you kissed her?"

Sighing, Joshua told the youngster, "Just because a man kisses a woman, it doesn't mean he's courting her. Hell, I've kissed plenty of women, and ain't never courted a one of 'em." That was the wrong thing to say and he knew it the instant the words left his mouth.

Mark scowled, his small hands balling up into fists. "My Ma ain't one of your...one of your… whores!" he spat out the word like it left a sour taste in his mouth just to say it aloud. Will's brows were drawn together in a dark frown as well.

Joshua kept his face neutral while he studied the boy, trying to salvage his poorly chosen words. As his interest in Alice had grown, he'd always had it in the back of his mind that Will would be the more protective of the two brothers when it came to their mother. He'd completely neglected to take into account Mark's very clear cut sense of right and wrong. In the boy's mind, kissing led to courting and courting led to marriage, and there were no exceptions. The problem was Joshua had never seen himself as a marrying man. In fact, he'd never, in all his years, even once considered getting hitched. Not that the notion of marrying Alice was particularly unpleasant, but still, him and marriage? At least he had the sense enough to keep his mouth shut this time, though he had a hunch that he was on the verge of digging a deeper hole for himself if he didn't explain his actions soon.

"No, your Ma ain't a whore. And she certainly ain't the kind of woman who'd believe in wild promises, or who'd take a notion to run off to Mexico with me and think it some grand adventure. She's a lady, hellbent on doin' the best she can for her family, no matter what it costs her." Joshua tightened his grip around the reins and directed his black gelding closer to Mark's horse, looking the boy dead in the eyes he continued harshly, "Now you tell me, Mark-is that the kind of woman, the kind of lady, who'd marry a thievin' murderer who'd rob a company blind for nothing more'n the challenge of it, or who'd kill a man in cold blood for disobeying an order, or hell, just being stupid." Even though he hadn't planned out exactly what he was going to say, the words still rang true. He shifted his gaze from Mark to Will and his voice was quieter when he demanded, "What kind of self-respectin' lady is gonna marry a man like that? What kind of lady would marry a man like me?"

The sudden tension in the air made the horses restless, and Mark worried his bottom lip, turning his chestnut in a circle to settle the animal down. "That's in the past though, right? You ain't that kind of man no more. A man can change. Ain't that right?" he asked, directing his question toward his brother.

Will's answer was slow in coming, but he concurred none the less. "Yeah. A man can change...and you have changed, from what you were when I met you," he told Joshua, lifting his chin.

"You really believe that?" Joshua returned, with something approaching disbelief, looking between the pair.

Mark nodded wordlessly, and Will straightened in his saddle, saying, "Yes. Mark's right. You ain't that kind of man no more."

Their simple faith in him was nothing short of astonishing. "And you think your mother believes it too?"

Shrugging, Will pointed out, "If she didn't, she wouldn't have anything to do with you. She'd treat you just like she does Silas Brody and Mr. McGregor and all them other damn fools."

After considering the young man's words for a moment, he had to take them for truth. She trusted him enough to let her guard down around him, instead of keeping him at a polite and formal distance the way she did so many others. He sighed, "Look, even if I have changed, what I am ain't much better. A ranch hand or cowboy ain't exactly what most people consider to be a respectable way of living."

Mark gave him an incredulous look. "So you're not going to court her because you don't think she respects you on account of you being a cowboy?"

"Well…." There was more to it than that, but again, explaining to the boy that he just wasn't the marrying type was a bad idea all around.

The boy glared at him and with a jerk of his reins, gave his chestnut horse a kick and rode away.

Joshua took off his hat, running his fingers through his hair with a frustrated sigh. "He's not gonna let this be, is he?"

Will shrugged, watching his brother ride to the far side of the herd before answering. "It was a pretty sorry excuse, you have to admit."

Pulling his hat back on, Joshua said, "Shit, Will, what was I supposed to say to him? 'Mark, I'm mighty fond of your Ma, but gettin' hitched ain't exactly ever been on my 'to-do' list'."

The young man grinned at that. "Yeah, it's a good thing you didn't say that. You'd a never hear the end of it." Sobering a little, he made a minute adjustment to his gloves and then asked quietly, "Is the notion of getting married to her that bad? You do make her happy, there ain't a doubt in my mind about that, but..." It seemed like he wanted to say more, but he just shook his head, "I don't know. She does respect you, you know. If she said no, it wouldn't be because she didn't respect you. I'm just sayin'." He drew his coat tighter around himself before clicking his tongue to get his horse moving again.

Joshua watched Will ride over to join his brother, and when the two began to talk back and forth, even though he was too far away to hear what was being said, it was pretty clear they were talking about him.

He reached into his coat and pulled out his leather bound sketch book, flipping through the pages until he came to last one, the one he'd drawn last night of Alice reading by the fire. A smile touched his lips and he traced the curved line of her shoulder with one fingertip. Touching the real thing had been a damn sight better. He'd never felt this way about anyone or anything, never known that putting someone else's happiness before his own could be so satisfying. His feelings for Alice went so far beyond fondness, affection, and even desire, that if it wasn't love, he didn't know how the hell else to describe it.

Tucking the journal away again, he forced himself to consider what it might be like to be married to Alice. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around it, so he tried to imagine what it'd be like seeing her married to someone else. The mere thought of anyone else putting their hands on her made him mad enough to swallow a horn toad backwards.

So supposing he did break down and ask her, then she'd either say yes or no. And the number of reasons why she'd say no, regardless of whether or not she respected him, were more than he could shake a stick at.

"Goddammit."

Very little was said during supper. Joshua spent most of the meal pushing the food around on his plate instead of eating, though he gave her a reassuring smile when his eyes met hers from the opposite end of the table. Will didn't say much of anything, but that wasn't unusual. Mark alternated between glaring at Joshua and taking out his ire on a defenseless cut of flank steak with his knife and fork. His foul mood was confusing, given the broad grin he'd had on his face after Joshua had kissed Alice after lunch.

She had no idea what had come to pass during their hours spent on the range, but whatever it was, it must have been pretty significant. Nothing appeared to be resolved by the time they'd finished feeding and bedding down the animals for the night and returned to the house.

Mark went to shut himself in the bedroom for the evening instead of reading in front of the fire like he usually did, but William barred him from closing the door with his boot. "Wait, let me get my stuff out of the other room." Alice, who had just settled down in the rocking chair to read more of the Jules Verne book, looked up with surprise. "I've been fine for weeks now, Ma. I don't need to be babied no more."

"No, of course you don't," she murmured, rising to her feet to retrieve a couple of clothing articles left in the room she'd shared with Mark since June. Joshua watched from his chair at the kitchen table as the two swapped rooms.

"You need any more blankets? It's already quite chilly outside, and liable to be worse by morning," Alice said from the doorway, watching Will tuck the box of books and magazines he'd collected during his recuperation under the bed.

He assessed the number of blankets already piled on the bed, plus the throw hanging over the back of the bed. "Nah, we'll be plenty warm. Goodnight, Ma. Goodnight, Joshua," he said, and started to close the door behind him.

"Goodnight Ma," Mark added. His brother hesitated to give the boy a chance to say the same to Joshua, but after a couple of moments, it became apparent that no such nicety was forthcoming. Will grimaced and pulled the door shut.

Alice turned toward Joshua with one eyebrow raised, then walked over to sit at the table with him. "So..."

"So..." he echoed with wry amusement.

"Rough day?"

"It started out right. In fact, I couldn't have imagined a more perfect start to my day," Joshua told her softly, so the boys would not be able to hear their words through the thin walls. He gave her a look conveying so much intimacy and remembered desire it made her feel warm all over. "Things kinda went downhill after that, though," he revealed with a crooked smile.

Alice frowned. "Why? What happened after that? I mean, Mark seemed fine after you kissed me at lunch." Her cheeks pinkened at that memory. "It didn't seem to bother him at all then, and yet when you returned this afternoon, well, I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that he's been staring daggers at you all night."

"It was hard to miss." He sighed and leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the table. When he started drumming his fingers on the table, the gesture seemed very odd coming from him. It took a few moments to realize why it seemed so strange. _He's nervous_ , she realized with a start. Even when he'd been on the verge of pulling a bullet out of Will's chest, he'd never shown a hint of the restless anxiety he was exuding now.

"Joshua? What is it?"

His fingers stopped their movement, and he answered, "You've got it half right. Mark isn't against us kissing." The surprise on her face made him grin, and he continued, "What's got his dander up is the notion of us kissin', without courtin'." Joshua ran his fingers through his hair and dropped his elbow back down to the table, and he said plainly, "Alice, he's mad at me because I'm not courtin' you for marriage."

"Oh." She blinked, her thoughts turning into such a sluggish, disorganized mess that she felt as though her head was full of molasses. It took her a moment to find her tongue, and even then she could only formulate the words, "I see." It really should not have been so surprising. While Mark was a bit young to be described as narrow-minded, he was as obstinate as he was opinionated. Joshua was still staring at her, an inscrutable expression on his face, and she finally said, "Mark's always been one to see things as either black or white, with no gray in between," giving him a tiny shrug.

"Mmmm," he made a noncommittal sound and looked down at the table, one fingernail tracing a grove in the woodwork. "So what do you think?"

That was a loaded question that somehow managed to be deliberately vague at the same time, and she responded with an obscure response of her own. "What do I think of what?"

Joshua gave her a knowing look, that tiny smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. "Mark's being madder than an ol' wet hen. Courting." A slight pause later, he added, "Marriage," while eyeing her closely.

Drawing on every ounce of will she possessed in order to maintain a serene countenance, she considered her response. What did he expect her to say? Throwing caution to the wind, she tilted her head at him and asked, "Are you asking me in a round-about way how I'd take to being courted by you? For marrying?"

He went still at the challenge and after a moment, replied with a sidelong grin that seemed forced at best. "That is what courting usually leads to, ain't it?" Now it was her turn to stare down at the table while he went on, "It ain't that bad of an idea, is it? I mean, the boys like me, the ranch is doing fine and dandy, and we get along all right..."

Alice barely managed to swallow down a jittery giggle as the sudden image of them 'getting along' the previous night flashed through her head. Grasping at the fraying threads of her composure, she looked up at him, and from his words and expression, she wasn't sure who he was trying harder to convince, her or himself.

Leaning toward her, he spoke softly, "Plus, I know it was just one night, but you never know-you could already be in the family way."

She stiffened, not quite able to stifle the sting of pain that particular subject caused, and he fell silent, sensing he'd blundered into some sort of forbidden territory. "There's no point in worrying yourself with that," she said, knitting her fingers so tightly together in her lap that it hurt. "When Mark was born, it was... a difficult birth. For both of us, actually, we barely survived." She drew in a slow, deep breath, met his eyes and said, "I've been blessed enough to have two wonderful sons, and that is enough."

The compassion and sorrow his face showed on her behalf brought tears to her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, and reached out to take one of her hands beneath the table.

She shrugged, giving him a watery smile while she wrapped her fingers around his. "Nothing to be sorry for. It's not like you knew." They stared at each other for a long moment, and she finally said, "May I ask you a question?"

A flicker of a smile touched his lips, and he returned with one raised eyebrow, "You mean besides the one you just asked?" She gave him a Look and he almost laughed. "Yes, Alice. You can ask me anything you want."

"What's the longest you've ever stayed in one place?"

The question was unexpected, but his reaction was no less telling. He sobered and his gaze slid away from hers before he replied, "Four months, two days, and nine hours." That faint smile reappeared, his shoulder lifting in a shrug. "Give or take."

Alice didn't need a calendar to know that length of time directly coincided with his current sojourn in Bisbee. "Mmm. And how long do you plan on staying here?"

His fingers tightened around her own. "As long as you need me to," he stated, meeting her eyes again.

She couldn't help the wistful smile that appeared on her face at his response. Lifting her free hand to cup his jaw, her thumb traced a path over his cheek. "And how long do you suppose we need you to stay, Joshua? How long do you think _I'd_ need you to stay? Or I'd _want_ you to stay?" His eyes were troubled, but he seemed on the verge of answering when she covered his lips with her hand to keep him silent as she went on, "Because if you can't answer that question, or you don't know how long that might be, then you'd best leave off asking certain questions in a round-about manner and get used to having a twelve-year-old boy mad at you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Joshua nodded and she slowly uncovered his mouth, letting her hand drop down to the table. Then she rose to her feet, leaning over to give him a soft kiss on the lips. "I haven't said no," Alice told him, "but you better be damn sure you realize what I'll be expecting from you if-or when-I say yes." She brushed his mouth again with her own and whispered, "Good night," giving his hand a final squeeze before she disentangled her fingers and went to her bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry no trivia..


	15. Hope, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bisbee's Marshal makes a highly unexpected request, and Joshua tries to decide whether his future is with the Evans family or if it's time to move on, like he's always done before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how long that last chapter was? That ain't nothin', compared to this 'un!

Joshua went from sleep to fully awake between one breath and the next. He sat up, and while he didn't feel the tingle between his shoulder blades that warned of impending danger, at the same time he had a vague notion that something was not normal. After pulling on his boots, he eased his Colt .45 out of its holster and got to his feet.

Castor was in the stall across the aisle, and the massive bull shifted to peer over the door before giving him an inquisitive moo.

"Shhhhh," he told the bull, lifting his finger to his lip, and then opened the door to the stall he'd been bedding in since that October snow six weeks earlier. It was the 25th of November, and winter had roared in earlier and harder than anyone living could remember. The Great Plains states were already being snowed under in what was being called the worst winter in history. Either way, it meant that for now, he was sleeping in a stall on the ground floor instead of up in the loft. He’d much rather have been sleeping in Alice’s bed, but while Mark’s initial anger at him for not courting his mother had cooled, neither was inclined to get him riled up again by flaunting their relationship, such as it was. Will had taken it upon himself to declare Wednesdays as ‘Library Day’, so on that day of the week, weather permitting, he and his brother would head to the Bisbee Library, giving Joshua and Alice some time to themselves. For now, Mark was taking an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ approach when it came to the two adults. No further mention of courting or marriage was made by anyone in the household.

It was just after midnight by his reckoning and black as pitch in the barn but Joshua made his way up the clean swept aisle to the large door without incident. At least enough time had passed since the large Thanksgiving dinner earlier that he could walk without discomfort again. He slipped outside, closing the door behind him. With the new moon, starlight was the only thing to see by, but it was more than enough to make out the hunched shape of individual cattle in the corral, and to see across the way to the dark ranch house. It wasn't as cold tonight as it had been on previous nights, though there was a distinct bite in the air, enough that he was glad he’d slept in his clothes again for the extra warmth. Even with the lowing of the herd from the corral, it was unusually quiet, and he suspected that was what had caused him to wake up.

Joshua was taking one last look around when a dark flicker of movement from the direction of the road caught his eye. By the time his eyes had picked out the shapes of two horsemen approaching, he could hear them as well, the hooves striking the ground growing louder by the moment. Anyone riding in to see them at this time of night, especially the night after Thanksgiving, would not come bearing good tidings. He ducked down near the water trough, aware that in the low light he'd be nearly indistinguishable from the cattle milling around in the corral behind him, and watched the pair. 

The two men rode up to the front of the house, and while they were quiet, he could tell it had more to do with the fact that it was nighttime, and not because they were trying to be stealthy. They dismounted, and the shorter of the two men asked, "Do you reckon he sleeps in the barn or in the house?" as they both turned to look at the barn. 

"The Hell if I know, Greene. Tain't but one way to find out," the other replied, and his voice seemed familiar. 

When they stepped forward to tie their horses to the hitching post in front of the house, he crept up behind them. The quiet click of his gun cocking was the only warning they had before he said, "Put your hands in the air and turn around real slow."

Both men near about jumped out of their boots. Shorty's hands were flung up in such haste he almost slugged his horse. The taller of the pair dropped his hand to his gun with lightning speed and Joshua could tell it was pure reflex. It took a visible effort for him to pull his hand away and reach skyward, indicating to Joshua that this man was definitely the more dangerous of the two. The reason why was obvious as he turned around in a slow movement. "Easy now. We're not here to cause any trouble--I've had enough of that already tonight to last me clear through till next year," Marshal Eugene Thompson said with relative calm despite the gun that was pointed at him. Behind them, the door to the ranch house eased open and the long barrel of a Sharps 1874 rifle came into sight. 

"People that come callin' this time of night, even on a holiday, probably ain't droppin' off a pecan pie," Joshua returned with a tight smile. He eased off the hammer of his Colt and lowered it to his side. "What do you want with me, Marshal Thompson?" 

The Marshal lowered his hands, and his drooping mustache sagged even further when he answered, "Deputy Young's been shot." Shorty, his face still pale, also put his hands down as well.

An audible gasp was heard from within the house, and Alice threw the front door open the rest of the way, Will right behind her with the rifle now held loosely in one hand. She'd taken the time to pull a dress on but her hair was still all mussed up from sleep. "Something's happened to Deputy Young?" She shifted to the side to make room for Mark, who turned up the flame on the lantern he held to provide more light for everyone.

"Fraid so," Thompson said, sparing a glance for Alice before he turned back to Joshua. "I'm real sorry for wakin' ya'll up but, well, he's in a pretty bad way... Mason, we could really use your help."

He'd had an inkling that the two men were here to ask for his help as soon as they mentioned the Deputy's injury, but even so, he was still almost surprised at the request. His eyes shifted from the pair to where Will and Mark fidgeted on the porch. Alice said nothing. "Doc Hall couldn't help him?" he finally asked.

Marshal Thompson's mustache whiskers bristled at the question. "Hall's the one who shot him in the first place," he announced and spat at the ground in disgust.

Alice's jaw dropped, and Will said incredulously, "Wait, Doc Hall shot Deputy Mason?" 

The short man, Greene, nodded, "He sure did. Ol' bastard--pardon my language--was drunker than a skunk and raisin' a ruckus right in the middle of the street. So Mitch was tryin' to get him to quiet down, ya know? To go inside all peaceful like. Hall said he wasn't goin' back to the drunk tank again and pulled his pistol out and shot him. I think he was tryin' to shoot the ground in front of him, but like I said, Doc was pretty damn drunk."

Joshua took a deep breath and shook his head. "Look, Marshal," he began, "I'm real sorry to hear bout your deputy, but... It's just that.... I'm not.... I can't..." His words faltered as he realized he didn't know how to explain away his reluctance without fessing up to the fact that he wasn't really a doctor.

"Look, Mason, I've heard some of the rumors around town about you," Marshal Thompson said, and Joshua stiffened, meeting the man's penetrating stare. "You can't be a lawman in a place the size of Bisbee without hearing all manner of stories about what'd make a man as wealthy as you're said to be give up his life as a fancy doctor back east and come all the way out here to the middle of nowhere to start over again. But the truth is, I really don't give a shit about your past," he growled bluntly. "What I care about is I got a man, a good man, that's been shot up. He's bleeding like a stuck pig, he's in a lot of pain, but he's alive and I'm tryin' my damndest to make sure he stays that way. I seen what you done for young Will there, and I'd sure as hell appreciate it if you could at least come take a look at Mitch and see if you can do anything for him."

No one said anything for a long moment, and Joshua looked over to where Alice and the boys were standing on the porch. All three seemed to be holding their breath as they waited for his response. He was on the verge of walking away from them--all of them, Alice, the boys, this damn Marshal and his lackey--and saddling up Dawson to ride as far away from Bisbee as the horse's legs would take him when suddenly page 821 of the Bible his momma had given him before walking out of his life forever appeared in his mind, as clear now as it was the day he'd seen it the first time. The first three verses of Ecclesiastes chapter three were practically lit up in his memory. "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die....a time to kill, and a time to heal..."

He blinked, forcibly willing the image away, and asked the Marshal, "Where'd he get shot?" 

Mark grinned at the question, giving his mom a one-armed hug as she and his brother exchanged a quick look.

Tension drained out of Thompson. "In the leg. Bullet hole is right about here," he pointed to a place right in the meaty middle of his thigh.

"But it didn't hit the femoral artery, right? The blood, was it gushing out or oozing out?" Joshua demanded.

"Oozin'," the short man said, adding a firm nod for good measure.

"We wouldn't be out here if it was the other. I seen enough in my years to know if a man's leg shot and the blood's gushin', there's nothing any doctor can do, no matter how good he is," Marshal Thompson tugged on a long tendril of his mustache. "The gun was a .22 Smith & Wesson almost as old as I am. No exit hole."

"No exit wound, all right..." Joshua was already digging through his memory, trying to decide what was the best method of dealing with an injury like this, but quickly realized all the knowledge in the world wouldn't do him much good without the patient being right in front of him. "Lemme get my horse."

"Joshua, is there anything we can do to help?" Alice's knit her fingers together anxiously as she waited his reply.

He started to decline, but thought the better of it after giving it a moment's thought. "You got any of those bandages left from Will?"

She nodded immediately, to his relief. "I washed them and put them in the linen trunk, but they'll still need to be boiled. Mark and I will get them together and come too, since we already know what needs to be done to help you.” The boy lifted the lantern up to follow her back inside.

Addressing Marshal Thompson and Greene, Joshua ordered, “You two ride on back to Bisbee. When you get there, have someone get one—no two—pots of water boiling. We’ll need them.” He thought for a moment and asked, “Does Doc Hall have any surgical tools in his office?”

The lawman nodded, “Ayup, he’s got Doc Potter’s old tools when he took over as the town doctor.” 

“Good, I’ll need them. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The two men mounted up and rode off, while Joshua hurried to the barn. Will joined him a few moments later and began the process of getting the wagon ready. “Ya'll coming too?” he asked the youth as he tightened Dawson’s saddle girth.

“Thought about it, but figured since I’d probably just be in the way, I’ll just stay here. Knowin’ my luck, with all of us gone, today would be the one day we’d get hit by rustlers.”

Will paused in securing the harness on the wagon horse when Joshua mounted up and said in a low voice, “Deputy Young… he’s a good man.”

“For a lawman, you mean?” Joshua returned with sardonic amusement as he slipped the bridle over the gelding’s head before buckling the throat latch.

“Especially for a lawman.” 

“I’ll try and keep that in mind.”

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

The sun had been up for a good hour before they left Bisbee to return back to the ranch. Alice drove the wagon down the dusty road while Mark dozed on the bench seat beside her. All three of them were exhausted, but no one spoke.

Joshua let Dawson lag a good ways behind the wagon because his mood was blacker than the horse he sat on. I ain’t never doin’ anything like that again, he swore to himself yet another time, his fingers tightening back on the reins enough that the gelding whickered in soft protest. Forcing himself to loosen the lead a bit more, he gave the horse an apologetic pat on the shoulder.

So long as infection didn’t set into his injury, Deputy Mitchell Young would probably be fine. The young man had been stretched out on an examining table in Doc Hall’s office by a few townspeople. His pregnant young wife Hannah was there as well, sitting in a chair by his head and alternating between reassuring him that everything was going to be just fine and weeping in silence. They’d given the deputy a couple shots of whiskey to knock the edge off the pain, but the alcohol combined with blood loss had put him into a near stupor through which he slurred almost nonstop, “Don’t let ‘em take my leg…please don’t…” Apparently amputation had been Doc Hall’s treatment of choice when it came to dealing with serious injuries.

The surgical tools he’d needed to operate with were present in heavy jars filled with a murky liquid, just as Marshal Thompson had said. He had Mark and Alice boil them anyway, knowing there was a chance the solution had lost some of its potency given the fact that they were probably sitting in the same turpentine they’d been in three years ago, when Doc Potter was still alive. The bullet had just about gone clean through his thigh, narrowly missing both the femoral artery and the bone. In fact, it’d gone so deep into his leg that it very nearly came out the other side—Joshua had been able to feel the distinct lump of the bullet in the muscle just beneath the skin on the opposite side of the entry wound. Of course, convincing Hannah Young that creating a new wound to remove the bullet would do far less damage than digging through his leg to reach the bullet took some doing, but she finally yielded after Alice’s gentle but firm reassurance.

The incision he made was a bit too large to his reckoning, but it was his first time doing this sort of thing, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Removing the bullet had been surprisingly easy after that, and he realized after examining the piece of metal that it’d been a good thing he’d chosen that route. There’d been a dark patch of fabric from Young’s trousers stuck to the nose of the bullet. If he’d removed it the other way, there was a chance that the tiny bit of cloth might have been left behind, which would vastly increase the likelihood of infection. The books he’d read hadn’t even mentioned this aspect of treating bullet wounds, and he realized that it was nothing short of a miracle that Will’s injury didn’t seem to have had same thing. 

The problem of keeping the smaller incision open so that the wound could drain was solved by convincing Greene to cut off a piece of metal tubing from his whiskey still. The Marshal had provided some ‘encouragement’ on that. After that it was just a matter of packing a bran poultice on the wounds and then wrapping the leg. 

It was impossible to tell how much blood the deputy had lost. There were bloodied rags everywhere. The best he could do was to tell Hannah to give her husband water and willow bark tea at regular intervals, and that if she had any laudanum handy, to give him no more than a teaspoon of it if the pain got truly unbearable. Alice’s lips had tightened at that recommendation—she’d refused to give Will any laudanum, telling him she’d seen the long term effects of addiction to the opiate liquid quite enough while living in back in Boston.

Treating the injury itself hadn’t been the worst part of the experience. It was everything else, starting with the small crowd of people waiting outside the building when he got there. “It’s the new doctor!” one had said, and that alone had nearly been enough to make him say to Hell with it and ride out of there as fast as Dawson would carry him. 

“I ain’t your damn doctor,” he’d growled out, which confused them, especially when he brushed past them to join Marshal Thompson inside. The small structure served as both doctor’s office and home, and the kettles of water he’d requested were being tended to by none other than Agnes Newsome, who was fussing nonstop about what a waste of time boiling the water was, since it was quite obvious that Hannah wasn’t due for at least another month or so. To make matters worse, the old biddy kept alternating between telling the deputy’s tearful wife that she was positive the wound wasn’t bad enough to require taking off his leg, and then assuring her that he’d get along fine on crutches when it was gone.

The timely arrival of Alice and Mark saved him from having to shoot the damn woman to shut her up. Alice took one look around the room, taking in Joshua’s tightly controlled fury, and then took Agnes by the arm, thanking her profusely for all her help while giving her a determined escort out of the office. Things still didn’t get any better. The whole time he was trying to treat Deputy Young, people kept popping in to see how things were going, asking if they could do anything to help. Each time the door opened, the cold air from outside would set the injured man to shivering so bad his teeth chattered. The Marshal’s patience was wearing thin as well as the interruptions continued, and finally he made Bob Greene go outside to keep the well-meaning citizens away. At least they weren’t coming in and out anymore, and the large windows were too grimy to gawk through.

The worst part of it was harder to explain. It was in Hannah Young’s eyes when she watched him clean her husband’s bullet wound with steaming hot linens until his hands were red. It was on Marshal Thompson’s face when he helped Alice and Mark hold his deputy’s leg still so that Joshua could remove the bullet with deceptively steady hands and more luck than skill. It was in the voices of every person that opened the door, wondering how the new doctor was progressing with his patient. That combination of hope and faith in his nonexistent skill as a doctor was almost more than he could bear. 

It was different when he’d helped Will. Alice and Mark both had hope and faith in his ability to help the kid, but they also knew he was about as far from a real doctor as a body could get. It just didn’t matter to them because they understood—and he finally admitted it to himself as well—that even though he had no experience, he was still William’s best chance at surviving. And survive he had. 

And that was the kicker, right there, he understood that much as he wanted to tell them he wasn’t a real doctor, in the long run it didn’t matter because he still was probably giving Deputy Mitch Young his best chance to survive especially if what he’d heard about Randy Hall was anything to go by. He had never been to a medical school (and neither had Doc Hall, he strongly suspected) and wasn’t a doctor, but he had real medical techniques memorized and had steady hands. Together, those two things might be just enough to help others survive things they mightn’t have if he stood aside and did nothing.

He hated that people kept calling him Doc Mason, even after he told them not to. At one point during the wee hours of morning, he’d stepped outside to take a breather. Fortunately by that time, all the townsfolk had given up on their interruptions and gone home. But when Greene had returned from his still with the drain tube piece, he’d called out, “Doc! Doc Mason, I got that thing you needed!” Joshua whipped around so fast in unveiled rage that the short man recoiled with surprise and fear, the color draining from his face. After that, Greene was very careful to refer to him as “Mister Mason”. Alice must have said something to the Marshal and the Youngs, because none of them referred to him by the unwanted moniker. 

The thing was, every time someone called him Doctor, or Doc, it reinforced the fact that their perception of his abilities was based on a lie. That made him feel guilty, and the only thing that pissed him off more than feeling guilty was feeling helpless. It was pretty rare for him to feel either of those two emotions, but if he kept doing this doctoring thing, then he was gonna get a hell of a lot more familiar with guilt. So, Never again, he’d vowed. 

When they got back to the ranch, Will emerged from the barn, asking, “Is he gonna be all right?” 

Joshua avoided both the question and Will, directing Dawson over to the watering trough and dismounting. “Deputy Young will be as right as rain in a few weeks,” Alice answered for him, climbing out of the wagon. “Mark, carry that food inside and set the table.” Jacob and Ethel Turner had brought them a basket full of biscuits, smoked ham and apples that morning right before they left Bisbee. “William, will you take care of the wagon?”

“Sure, Ma,” Will said, shooting an inquiring look at Joshua that he ignored. 

Alice gave her son the tiniest shake of her head, and then walked over to join the man and horse. He was letting the black gelding drink for a few seconds before drawing his head away. “You did a good thing today,” she finally said, looking at him over the saddle.

“He could still lose the leg. Or worse, if infection sets in.”

“But it won’t. He’ll be fine.” Her green eyes were clear with conviction. “And if someone else is unfortunate enough to get shot…”

“If someone else gets shot, they’re shit outta luck,” he growled out. “I ain’t ever doin’ that again. I don’t care who it is. I ain’t no doctor and I don’t wanna be one.”

She pursed her lips, thoughtfully considering his words while she watched him let the black horse drink again. “Are you going to check on the deputy tonight like you told Hannah you would?” 

He almost told her no, just to be ornery. “Maybe,” was what came out of his mouth instead.

The look she leveled his way indicated she knew that his ‘maybe’ was as good as a ‘yes’. “Come inside for breakfast when you get done watering him,” was all she said, and walked to the house.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About three weeks later, he realized he should have expanded his ‘Never again’ vow from treating gunshot wounds to doctoring in general. He was out on the range with William on a warm December morning when Mark rode up and told him one of the Carlyle kids needed his help. Not even Joshua was cruel enough to say no to helping a child that needed it, so he’d left Mark to help Will and rode back to the ranch to where an anxious Joe Carlyle waited with Alice. 

This time, Alice didn’t ask if he needed her help before coming along. She had donned her riding skirt, and immediately mounted up on the gelding Nathan to ride with them to Bisbee while Joe explained what had happened. It seemed that seven year old Jenny had taken it upon herself to show her three older brothers that she wasn’t a ‘scared little baby’ by jumping out of the hayloft. She’d landed wrong and broken her leg so bad the bone was sticking out.

He still wasn’t used to the way people treated him in Bisbee, especially all the respectful nods and amiable smiles, but he’d learned to ignore it. Word had gotten around about how much he hated being called Doc and Doctor, so instead they all referred to him as Mister Mason. He didn’t much care for that either, but it was better than the alternative. 

The doctor’s office in town was unoccupied now. Justice was swift and harsh in the Arizona Territory. Just two weeks after shooting Deputy Mitchell Young and being convicted by a jury, Judge Watkins had promptly sentenced Doc Hall to ten years of hard labor up at Yuma Territorial Prison for attempted murder.

Jenny Carlyle was laid out on the same examining table Deputy Young had occupied a few weeks prior, her lower body covered by a blanket. Her small face was scrunched up in a clear attempt not to cry, probably because the three brothers she had tried so hard to imitate earlier were sitting in the room with her and their mother. Someone had already gotten the fire going, and Alice immediately went into the back room to set some water to boiling. Joshua spared a nod for the teary-eyed mother, pulling on a clean apron and tying it in back. Then he leaned over the little girl, saying lightly, “I heard someone around here took a notion to give flying a try.”

Her blue eyes were glazed in pain, but she said with a hint of pride, “I did ok till I landed.”

“So I hear,” he grinned. “Let’s get a look-see at your leg. Alice, grab the other side.” Together, they lifted the blanket off as carefully as possible to avoid rubbing it more against the injury more than it already was. His jaw clenched and Alice barely stifled a gasp of dismay upon seeing the girl’s bloodied shinbone sticking out a good inch from the skin. “Has she been given any laudanum?” Ether would have been the better anesthetic but he already knew there wasn’t any in the small office, so the opiate liquid would have to suffice.

“She wouldn’t take it,” one of her brothers said, and the mother nodded.

“Mm. And I don’t suppose it was one of you boys who told her at some point in the past that only babies take something for pain?” he asked the brothers, who to a one all shuffled their feet in guilt. “She’ll take it now, won’t you Jenny?” Joshua gave the little girl a steady look until she nodded. 

Rachel Carlyle dug the small bottle and spoon out of her reticule and Alice helped Jenny sit up high enough that she was able to swallow down the noxious liquid. 

Once that was done, Joshua examined the wound again, trying to decide the best way to proceed from here. Bits of straw and dirt were stuck to the drying blood smeared around the wound, and every speck of it would have to be removed before he even attempted to set the bone. “I’m going to need a magnifying glass.”

Treating Jenny Carlyle was much harder on him than treating Mitchell Young had been. The laudanum dulled the pain but didn’t remove it all together, and the man’s hoarse cries of pain were nothing compared to the agonized shriek the child gave when he finally set her bone. Luckily, she passed out after that and didn’t wake up until they were already finished splinting her leg and dressing the wound. The Carlyle family left soon after that, little Jenny safely arranged in the back of the wagon on a pile of pillows and feed bags that would limit how much jostling her broken leg would subject to. 

Alice tidied up the office while he wandered around the room in silence, looking at the anatomical charts and posters of horses, pigs and other animals that covered nearly every inch of available space on the walls. “Those were Doc Potter's,” Alice told him, watching as he leaned over to peer at a jar holding a pig fetus. It seemed deformed somehow, and when he turned the jar around, he realized it was because the embalmed piglet had six legs. “I suspect Doc Hall refused to take it all down because he thought it’d make him look more like a real doctor if he kept everything the same.” 

Joshua almost laughed. “I reckon I should keep it around for the same reason, then.” Turning back toward the examining table, he rested his weight against the edge with both hands and said wearily, “I don’t want to do this anymore. I never wanted this—any of it.” 

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted things I never got, and didn’t want things I’ve gotten a full measure of,” Alice walked over to stand beside him. “What we plan for from life and what we get are two entirely different things.”

“Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit.” She gave him an inquisitive look. “That’s Latin for ‘Man proposes, but God disposes’.” He fell silent for a moment, running the palm of his hand over the smooth table surface and then said what he’d been thinking since he first set eyes on Jenny Carlyle’s leg. “Nothing I did for that girl today is gonna make a damn bit of difference. She’s still gonna lose her leg.” 

Alice gaped at him, and it was a moment before she could speak. “But we cleaned the wound. We were careful to get everything out of it before you set it!”

“It won’t matter,” he told her, utterly despondent. “If the bone had stayed under the skin, it’d probably heal just fine. But she had a ‘compound fracture’. That’s what the books call it, and it almost always causes something called osteomyelitis, which is a bone marrow infection. There’s no cure. The only two treatments I know once infection sets in are to cut her leg open and put maggots in the wound to eat the dead parts, or to take the leg. I don’t want to do either, and God help me, I’m not going to have a choice if I want her to live.” Lowering his head, he shut his eyes to block out the images that followed, and his hands dug into the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turned white. 

Her hand smoothed over the back of his, loosening his grip enough to draw him into her embrace, and he hugged her tight, burying his face in the loose hair at her shoulder. A shadow cast by someone walking past one of the office windows dimmed the room, and a moment later, someone tentatively rapped on the door. Sighing, he released Alice and took a step away from her just as the door opened to reveal Hannah Young, the deputy’s wife, accompanied by a boy who looked to be about Mark’s age, carrying a large package wrapped with brown paper.

The pregnant woman hesitated, her eyes flicking from Joshua to Alice, who had turned away to wipe tears from her eyes. “I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I saw that the Carlyle’s had left and thought that it’d be a good time to come by, but clearly I was mistaken. I apologize.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Young,” he said, mustering a smile. “We were just talking.”

Alice had recovered her composure enough to greet her as well, walking over to take her hand in a warm greeting. “It’s good to see you again, Hannah.” Her eyebrows drew together in worry, “Is something wrong with Deputy Young?”

“Oh no, no,” Hannah hastily reassured them. “He’s doing just splendid! He’s already walking around on crutches and trying to convince the Marshal to let him come back to work. But I keep reminding him that Mister Mason said he’d need to rest his leg for at least six weeks. I’m not sure which of us will be driven to distraction first, him for having to wait that long, or me, for having to listen to him complain about it.”

Joshua’s grin was a little more genuine at that, remembering how much William had griped at being a-bed for so long. “Well then, is there something else I can do for you?” His eyes flickered down to the distinct swell of her stomach with alarm.

She blushed, resting a hand on her tummy, “Oh goodness, no, not that either, for another few weeks we hope, and everyone around says that Nora Hodges is the best midwife in all of the Arizona Territory so you needn’t worry that I’ll be bothering you about that. Georgie, you can put that on the table,” she directed the boy, who could not stop staring at the jar with the six-legged piglet in it. She thanked him when he set the package down and he mumbled a response before ducking back out the door.

“What’s this?” 

“It’s a smoked ham,” Hannah replied, as though it should be perfectly obvious. “I know it’s not nearly enough, given that you probably saved Mitch’s life and all, but we knew we had to do something to pay you for what you did for him.”

Joshua was at a loss for words. The ham was big enough that it probably weighed a good 30 pounds. He started to refuse it, but Hannah Young had the same stubborn tilt to her chin that Alice Evans had had when he’d offered to work for her for next to nothing, and that woman was giving him a warning look that clearly said, 'Take it'. Damn stubborn pride. “Thank you,” he finally said, and was rewarded with a glowing smile. 

“You’re welcome, and if there’s anything else we can do to repay you, anything at all, please let us know.”

He looked from the young woman down to the large package on the examining table, thinking about the small patient that had been laid out on it less than an hour ago. “Actually, there is something you might be able to help me with. Do you think you can get me some ether? Or some carbolic acid?” Alice’s eyebrows shot upward at the unexpected request.

Hannah beamed at him, thrilled by the prospect of being able to help. “I should be able to get you a few bottles of it, if I ask around. A lot of the women I know keep a bottle of it tucked away for sores and blisters. The other though, what’d you call it? Carbonic acid?”

“Carbolic acid,” he corrected. “It’s made from coal tar.” It wasn’t very common, but with Bisbee being a mining town, there was a remote chance some of the crystals might be found.

“I’m not sure on that one, then. Jacob Turner may have an idea of where to get some. In fact, I’ll go ask him right now,” she said purposefully. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Young. If you manage to find either of them, you can just set them on the desk there. I’ll get them the next time I come to town.”

Hannah turned back toward them, “Oh! I almost forgot to ask, how is Jenny Carlyle doing? I heard she broke her leg?”

Joshua worked hard to keep an amiable expression on his face. “She’s not out of the woods just yet, but the bone’s set and she’s home with her family.”

“She’s a wild one, little Jenny is,” she said with a warm smile. "The only girl among five boys, her mother’s fighting a losing fight to keep her prim and proper. I’m sure you did everything you could for her, just like you did for my Mitch. Good day and God bless you, Mister Mason. Alice, I’ll look for you at church on Sunday, weather permitting.”

“Bye, Hannah. Tell Deputy Young we asked after him,” Alice waved, and when the door closed behind her, she turned back to Joshua. “I know what the ether’s for, but what’s carbolic acid?”

“It’s an antiseptic. It’ll save us from having to boil tools before surgery.”

“I thought you didn’t want to do this anymore?”

He gave her a sad, crooked smile, and repeated, “Man proposes, but God disposes.”

 

Ultimately, weather determined the fate of Jenny Carlyle’s leg. It was so cold, rotting meat left outside for two weeks still did not draw flies—they’d all gone further south to warmer climes. Gangrene would set in well before springtime if they waited, so Joshua had no choice but to amputate her leg from the knee down.

He’d warned the Carlyles from the beginning that due to the nature of the bone break, she was at a far higher risk of infection, but they had hoped that somehow, she’d be the exception to the rule. When her leg swelled up and her fever raged abnormally high, there was no way to soften the blow of what lay ahead. The Carlyles had already lost one child three years prior to dyspepsia and for them, amputating their daughter’s leg was far better than risking the loss of another. 

Alice assisted with the surgery and heart breaking as that was for her, she knew it was infinitely worse on Joshua. Knowing that it needed to be done to save a child’s life was of some consolation, but it didn’t make the first cut any easier. Hannah Young had indeed found them a few bottles of ether, so at least the little girl was unconscious through out the whole procedure. Joshua worked as quickly as possible, not wanting to risk the possibility that Jenny might wake up in the middle of it. 

Afterwards, Joe Carlyle carefully picked up his daughter and carried her to the bedroom in back. Joshua had convinced them to stay in Bisbee overnight, instead of making the trip back home so soon after the surgery. When the ether wore off, Jenny seemed surprised and confused. “Is it over?” Her mother whispered a teary, “Yes”, and the child looked at Joshua and asked, “Then why does my foot itch?”

Jenny’s mother and father fought another losing battle against their tears, and it took everything Alice had not to join them. 

“It’ll do that sometimes,” Joshua said gently, brushing his hand over the girl’s forehead. “Do you want to see?” At her nod, he helped her sit up and she stared at the tightly wrapped stump and the empty place where her leg had once been. 

“Now I’ll never be able to run faster than Joey,” she said, disappointed. Joey was her brother, and only a year older.

He shook his head, telling her honestly, “No, you won’t. But I bet you’ll still be able to throw a ball further than he can, or catch more fish, or sing a song better. There’s heaps of things you can still do better than your brothers, or anyone else, for that matter.”

Mollified by his words, she nodded and then gave him a gap-toothed grin, “I can definitely sing way better than he can already.”

Joshua couldn’t help but smile at her optimism. “You’ll have to sing for me sometime and prove it. How bad does it hurt?”

Alice already knew that Jenny Carlyle’s pain tolerance was higher than most, so she wasn’t surprised when the girl considered the question for a moment and answered, “It's much better than it was earlier.”

“You tell your momma if it gets too bad, all right?”

“I will. Can I have my cookies now? Daddy said if I was good, I could have some cookies.”

The child’s resiliency was nothing short of amazing, but Alice supposed it wasn’t entirely surprising. It’d always seemed to her that children could handle significant changes in their lives so much easier than adults could. They just weren't as set in their ways.

Dinner that night was a solemn affair. Once again, Alice was spared the trouble of having to cook by the efforts of some women from the sewing circle, and for that she was grateful because the day's events had left her both physically and emotionally drained. Joshua, hunched and morose, stared at his plate through the entire meal without really seeing it, and didn't eat more than a bite or two. Will and Mark were equally subdued by the somber mood that permeated the small house, and after they finished eating, went outside to finish bedding down the animals for the night. 

She scraped and washed the dishes, put the excess food in the root cellar to keep, and wiped off the table and counter top. Only after everything else had been cleaned and only Joshua's plate remained did she ask him, "Are you finished eating?"

He put down the fork he'd been using to move his food around for the past hour and wordlessly pushed the plate at her.

The boys returned when she was drying the dishes, each bringing an armload of firewood inside with them. Will got the fire stoked up again, then the two said a quiet goodnight and went to bed, closing the door behind them.

Once the dried dishes had been put away, Alice reached into the back of a cupboard, pulled down the whiskey bottle and two dusty shot glasses. The quiet 'thunk' the bottle made when she set it down on the table drew Joshua out of his brooding reverie, and he watched her wipe both glasses clean with the damp towel and then sit down in the chair adjacent to his. It took her a moment to work the cork free of the bottle, but when it finally popped free, she filled both glasses with the amber liquid and claimed one for herself, leaving the other for him. 

Without saying a word, he picked up the second shot glass and they stared at each other as they lifted and then tossed them back in unison. The whiskey burned a fiery trail down her throat, bringing tears to her eyes and causing her to cough. Joshua didn't seem to be affected, and only wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before setting the jigger back down on the table. This time he poured, and again they raised the glasses together, but she didn’t want a repeat of the previous shot, so drank hers more slowly. It still brought tears to her eyes but this time the liquid heat sluiced down more easily. 

The glasses were filled a third time, and but she didn’t even bother trying to match his drink, only swirled the whiskey around, watching how the firelight tickled like molten gold through the glass. He slowed down as well, taking three or four swallows to empty the glass, but he still poured himself another when that was gone.

Alice hadn’t had a drink in years, and she was already feeling the effects—the room seemed warmer, and her head felt just a little lighter. She pondered the whiskey for a long moment, and how for once, it seemed like an appropriate end to a hellishly bad day. “You know, when I met Dan, I didn’t even realize at first he was missing part of his leg,” she said, cradling the glass in her hands, vaguely registering that Joshua had paused mid-swallow at her words. “It was at some church social my parents made me go to. It was sweltering outside and they were serving fresh lemonade, but there was nowhere near enough given how hot it was and people were drinking one glass after another. By the time I even made it over to the drink table, the last glass was already gone. When I turned around to go rejoin my parents, someone was holding a glass out for me to take.” A smile curved her lips at the memory. “He said he was on his third glass and it suddenly seemed wrong not to share. It wasn’t until he walked me back across the room that I noticed he had a slight hitch in his step. I’d seen enough veterans of the War to know what that it meant. I never asked exactly how he came to lose it, and since I never asked, he never spoke of it. It wasn’t until William was four or five years old and asked for himself that I found out that he’d lost it in the Battle of Shepherdstown.”

His expression was inscrutable as he studied her from over the edge of his shot glass, the dollop of whiskey in the bottom all but forgotten.

She gave a slight shake of her head and the wave of dizziness that followed instantly made her regret that motion. When she opened her eyes again to meet his, her words were whisper soft. “It’s strange, how I never really cared to find out how he lost his leg, but at the same time, I always wondered what he was like before it was gone, if losing it had changed him somehow, if it’d changed him into the serious young man that I met that day by the lemonade table.” Sliding her gaze away from his, she confessed, “For some reason, I never could imagine him as that brash young boy, testing the limits of what people said he could or couldn’t do. I can’t quite see him jumping out of the hayloft, just to prove to his brothers that he could.”

Joshua lowered his glass the table, sliding it around on the table. Without looking at her, he said, “I don’t know. He kinda struck me as the kind of man who, when he really set his mind to doing something, then he was going to do it one way or the other, come hell or high water.”

A soft giggle escaped her before she could cover her mouth and she allowed, “It’s true, he could be quite stubborn.”

To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed quietly at her words. His eyes were bright with mirth when he straightened in his chair and then leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, grinning. “You know, he told me that he wasn’t stubborn.”

Her eyebrows shot upwards at that. “Well, if he did, he lied,” she said primly. “I know it’s quite rude to speak ill of the dead, but Dan Evans was the most stubborn man I’ve ever known all my born days.” 

Chuckling, he raised his glass in a toast. “To Dan Evans, and his stubborn ways.”  
Alice hesitated, then clinked her glass against his, downing the last bit of whiskey before setting the glass down on the table, open end down, signifying she’d had enough to drink for night. He was still smiling at the memory of her husband, and she found herself asking something she’d wondered about for more than two years. “Why did you get on that train?”

The humor faded from his features and he picked up the bottle again to pour himself another. He held the jigger but didn’t drink, just swirled the whiskey round and round. “I didn’t want his death to be meaningless,” he finally said, and bolted back the shot in one quick swallow.

Blinking, she asked, “What would your being on the train have to do with that?”

He took even longer to answer that question. "It just didn't seem right, not getting on the train when he died trying to get me there."

She was truly at a loss for words, and it must have shown on her face because he leaned forward and said intently, "You know what he was most worried about right there at the end? When my gang had turned half of Contention against him, and we were runnin' for cover, dodging bullets, trying to get to that damn train? He was worried that people didn't respect him. He was tired of his own son being ashamed of him, and bein' ashamed of hisself. And he was hell-bent on earnin' back that respect by getting me to the train, and he didn't give a rat's ass if he died doing it. At least he woulda proved he was man enough to try."

Tears rolled down her face, because she knew that was exactly the sort of thing Dan Evans would have done to prove himself. The two hundred dollars Butterfield had offered wouldn't have done any good, because it was too little, too late. Regaining his pride, though, that was something Dan would have thought was worth living for. Worth dying for.

Joshua seemed to contemplating another shot of whiskey and she moved the bottle out of his reach, picking up the cork to stopper it again. Then she stood up, and that made her dizzy enough that she had to grab the back of the chair. When the world stopped spinning, she put the bottle back up in the cupboard where it belonged, and then sat back down. "Do you think Jenny Carlyle will be all right now?"

Resting both of his forearms on the table, he crossed them in front of himself as he replied bitterly, "You mean aside from the fact that she's now missing half of her leg? Yeah, I reckon she'll probably be fine now."

"Better her leg than her life," she said, putting a hand on top of his.

He started to say something but then closed his eyes and averted his face away from her. A long moment passed, and then he looked straight ahead, staring at nothing while he quietly spoke, "I've read the Bible just one time. I was eight years old, and my daddy had got hisself killed over a shot of whiskey. So my mama said, 'We're goin' back East to start over.' So she gave me a Bible, sat me down in the train station. Told me to read it. Said she was gonna go get the tickets. So I did what she said. I read that Bible from cover to cover. It took me three days. She never came back. That was the day when I decided I wasn't gonna care about anyone's life but my own. If I wanted to take a life, then I'd take it. If I wanted to spare one, I'd do that too. Hell, I even got myself a custom made gun, and named it the Hand of God, and sometimes it was like holdin' it made me feel like I was holdin' the power of life and death in my hand." He almost smiled.

Alice's fingers had tightened around his when she realized that he was telling her about his past for the first time, but after that, she forced herself to keep still, bit her lip to keep silent, willed the tears from showing in her eyes, because she was afraid if she showed any reaction at all, he'd stop talking. And as terrible as it was to hear his words, she knew it had been far worse to live it. 

"But something changed," he said, looking at her. "Somewhere on that road to Contention, I started giving a shit. I didn't want Doc Potter to get killed. I didn't want Dan to die either, but he did, and when he was gone, William stood up and pointed his gun at me, and I wanted nothing more than for him to put a bullet in me because I knew damn well I had it coming." His choked laugh was sharp and bitter. "But he let me live. It wasn't until I was cuttin' off Jenny Carlyle's leg that I finally figured it out, that sparing a life ain't the same thing as saving one. And if I keep this up, keep pretending to be a doctor, then sooner or later, there's gonna be someone that I can't help, someone who's gonna die no matter what I do, it don't matter how many damn books I've read." Clenching his jaw in barely restrained frustration, he slid his eyes away from hers and admitted, "Hell, sometimes I want to go back to how it was when I didn't give a damn, when I was the one who got to just choose who lived and who died."

She felt her heart drop right into her stomach at his words and struggled to find her voice. "Are you sure that's really what you want? Because if you go down that path again, there'll be no turning back, do you understand me? And it'll be like you never boarded that train in Contention." 

Joshua's eyes met hers in a searching gaze and then he nodded. Her hand still rested on his, and her fingers tightened when she suddenly had the feeling that if she let his hand slip free of hers now, she might lose him forever. The thought was unbearable, so she stood up and drew him to his feet, pulling him along with her to extinguish out all but one of the lanterns. That one she lifted from its hook to light the way into her bedroom and then blew it out as well, before drawing him down on the bed with her, both of them fully clothed. Finally, she let go of his hand but only so that she could wrap her arms around him, biting back tears when she felt him gather her to his chest, each holding the other as if they were afraid what might happen if they let go.

He tried to leave the following morning. After Alice had nodded off, he watched her sleep, determined to commit every nuance of expression on her face to memory. Then he forced himself to let her go and eased out of the bed. She started shivering almost immediately without his body heat to keep her warm, so he covered her with a pair of heavy quilts, breathed a kiss across her forehead, and walked out of the house.

It only took a few minutes to saddle up Dawson and then he mounted up and headed east toward New Mexico. He’d been riding for an hour when he realized that at some point, he’d changed direction and was now headed southwest, toward Bisbee. After giving it some thought, the reason why he changed direction seemed pretty obvious to him, as Jenny Carlyle and her family had been on his mind a fair amount over the past few weeks. It just wouldn’t be right if he didn’t check in on her one more time before he was gone for good. 

By the time he rode into town, it was well after dawn. The Carlyles had stayed the night at the office and were already awake, with little Jenny sitting up in bed and happily working her way through one of the large sweet rolls that Ethel Turner had brought them. As difficult as the amputation had been, he could already tell that she was doing much better—her fever was gone and her eyes were bright and clear. Joshua changed her bandages, determined that it was safe for her parents to take her home, and then made the trip with them, riding alongside the wagon on Dawson. After making sure the girl was none the worse for wear from her long wagon ride, he returned to Bisbee and tidied up the office. 

It was right around noon by the time he’d finished and he was famished, so he ate lunch at the hotel and saloon across from Turner’s General Store. There was no way he’d make it all the way to New Mexico that day, so he figured he’d just head on back to the ranch and leave for good the next day. Knowing the boys had planned on grazing the cattle in a valley to the southwest of their home, he headed that way and met up with them on the range. Somewhat surprisingly, they didn’t ask a lot of questions about where he’d been and accepted his explanation that he’d gone to check up on Jenny. That night at supper, Alice treated his absence much the same, though Joshua could read her well enough to know she suspected there was more to his story than that. 

He slept in the barn as usual and leaving early the next morning seemed even harder, because he couldn’t see Alice one more time. He rode out anyway, and this time headed south. Mexico was far closer than New Mexico was anyway, and he felt that if he could just get some kind of boundary between him and the Evans family, he could make the break away from them for good. The problem with Joshua's plan was that Bisbee also lay due south of the homestead, and once he got there, he stopped in at the office. Nothing had changed since he’d left it the previous day, but he happened to open one of the desk drawers and found a tattered book on farriery and ailments common to horses that had once belonged to Doc Potter. He read that all morning and only stopped when Ethel Turner came in and asked him if he’d heard that Deputy Young’s wife had her baby boy last night.

The book was abandoned at that point, and he walked with Ethel up Main Street to the Young home. Nora Hodges, the midwife, had been on hand to help with the delivery, which had gone without a single hitch. Joshua had never seen such a tiny person before, and it seemed impossible that such a small thing could make so much noise when he got riled up. When the new mother Hannah informed him they had decided to name the boy after Joshua, well, a feather could have knocked him over he was so surprised.

Bob Carlyle was waiting outside the office when he returned early that afternoon, intent on paying Joshua for his care of Jenny the only way he could—with a matching pair of rocking chairs he had tied up in the back of his wagon. Since he couldn’t carry them to Mexico on Dawson, he accompanied Bob when the other man drove his wagon all the way out to the Evans ranch,. A bemused Alice watched as the two men set them up on the front porch and then tested them for a good hour, while talking about Bob's latest woodworking project, a wooden leg for little Jenny.

When Bob left, Joshua told Alice about the deputy’s new baby boy, and her smile upon finding out the infant had been named after Joshua made him doubly glad he’d decided to wait one more day before leaving, since he got to see it one more time. 

The fire delayed his departure again. It was bitterly cold that night, and the Ramseys had probably put far more logs on the fire than usual to help keep their house warm enough to last till morning. No one really knew for sure what happened from there, but by morning, Jim and Suzanne Ramsey and four of their five children had died in the conflagration. The oldest son, John Ramsey, was William’s age and had survived by jumping out of the burning house from a second story window. He survived the leap, but his bedclothes had caught fire and he had terrible burns all over his chest and legs that no amount of honey could help treat. All Joshua could do was give the boy laudanum to ease the agonizing pain of his burns until he died of infection two days later. 

The evening John died, rain and sleet pounded down in a hard downpour that perfectly suited his mood. Alice got the whiskey bottle down again. They downed a couple of shots together with barely a word spoken between them before she led him to bed. There, he made love to her one last time, drawing out every kiss and touch with exquisite care until the wave of pleasure they rode in unison crested and then began to ebb, leaving them clutching each other and out of breath. 

Wednesday morning when Joshua left, he took steps that made it clear he was gone for good.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Alice woke up before dawn alone and cold despite the heavy quilt that had been laid over her. She was disappointed, but unsurprised. William would have looked the other way, but Mark might have been madder than an old wet hen if he'd seen Joshua emerging from her room. After the emotional wringer she'd been put through in the previous days, that was something she could do without. She changed clothes, shivering at the damp chill in the drafty house, and then went about her usual morning routine, bringing in firewood and preparing breakfast.

She'd just pulled a few strips of bacon out of the frying pan to cool when William came in, carrying an armful of firewood. "Have you seen Joshua?"

"Not since last night," she replied, cracking eggs into the pan. "Wasn't he in the barn?"

"He ain't out there," Will told her, dropping the wood into the bin. "Dawson's not in his stall either."

Mark threw open the door and stood there, his eyes red and puffy and cheeks wet. "He's gone. He's really gone." 

Alice hesitated, a thread of worry wriggling its way through her, and then flipped the eggs over in the pan with deceptive calm. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for why he's gone. He's missed breakfast a few days this week, and has still been back in time for supper."

"But it's different this time," Mark sniffled, his voice quivering with the effort not to cry again. "Everything's gone. His clothes, his shaving kit, all his drawings, it's all gone. The only thing left was this." He held out a folded piece of paper.

William took it from him, and when he unfolded it and read, his lips tightened in consternation.

The eggs were forgotten. "What is it?" Alice stared at the paper and wasn't sure she even wanted to know. Wordlessly, her oldest son offered it to her, and she made herself read it. It was the deed for 24,000 acres of land belonging to Joshua P. Mason.

"What happened? What'd you say to him last night?" Will demanded.

"Did you two fight again?" Mark interjected with an accusing scowl.

"No. No, we didn't fight. We just talked.." She blinked back tears and refolded the paper. "You both know how unsettled he's been the past couple of weeks because of this whole ordeal with Jenny Carlyle and then the fire at the Ramseys. Yesterday was very difficult for him." The acrid smell of burnt eggs filled the room and she thrust the deed into her dress pocket before turning back to the stove and moving the eggs from the frying pan to a plate.

"But he did save Jenny's life, didn't he?" Mark protested.

"Yeah but he had to cut off her leg to do it," Will reminded his brother with a sad grimace. He'd had the odious task of burying the child's severed limb in the cold, hard ground.

Mark sank into one of the chairs in utter dejection. "I can't believe he just left. He didn't even say goodbye," Mark sniffled, wiping his nose with his shirt sleeve. 

In spite of her initial dismay, Alice refused to let herself believe that he was really gone for good. It didn't matter to her that Joshua had said just one week before how he'd wished he could go back to the way things used to be. Everyone had doubts about the direction their life was taking, especially after days as hellish as yesterday had been. He had to know that going back was impossible, he had to know that the life he'd made for himself in the past six months was worth far more than what he'd lost. "He isn't gone," she said firmly, dividing the slightly burnt breakfast among the four plates set on the kitchen table. 

Exchanging a quick look with his brother, William sighed. "Ma..." he began, but she halted his words with a wave of the egg turner.

"I can't believe he'd just up and leave, William. I won't believe it. There's already been enough times when I wanted to believe the worst about him, and I wondered if deep down he wasn't was the same murdering thief he was when I first laid eyes on him three years ago. But he told me once, and I believe him--something changed on the way to Contention." She paused and then continued in a softer tone, "He's not that man anymore, William, and you know he isn't--because if you'd thought it for a second, you'd have shot him when you had the chance right after your father died, before he ever got on that train to Yuma. And he'd have let you do it, wouldn't he, because you could tell he thought he deserved it? It's how you knew he'd changed."

Will's head jerked up and his surprise at her knowledge was obvious. Alice gave him a crooked smile. "Yes, we've talked about that."

"You were gonna shoot him?" Mark exclaimed in disbelief.

"I couldn't do it. He blamed himself for Pa's death--I could see it on his face clear as day," he muttered, looking away. 

Alice gently took Will's chin in her hand, forcing him to look her in the eye. "You believed in him then. Believe in him now."

Mark worried his lip for a moment and asked, "So what do we do?"

"When he comes back? Treat it as though he never left--because he hasn't," his mother told him, sitting down at the table for breakfast.

He didn't come back that night, or the next, but Alice determinedly kept her hopes up because she meant every word she'd said to William and Mark. Her sons must have felt the same because they continued to set the table for four. 

Late Friday morning, Alice was inside scrubbing the floor so hard and with such intensity that it took a moment to register the soft whicker of a horse and the rhythmic creak of the floorboards. She froze, the brush left forgotten there on the floor, and her heart beating so loud that she could both hear and feel it. Ignoring the pain in her arms and back, she got to her feet and pulled open the front door to see Joshua, who rocked back and forth in one of the chairs on the porch. He appeared lost in thought, one elbow propped up on the armrest and his chin resting lightly against his fingers, though he spared a glance for her when he heard the door open. Dawson's reins were lashed around the hitching post, his black hide lathered with a white sheen of sweat and one leg half cocked as he dozed in the cool morning air. 

Somehow, she managed to keep her composure while she sank down into the second chair, even taking a moment to straighten her dress before she joined him in rocking. "You're late for breakfast," she said at last, unable to take the silence any longer.

The barest hint of a smile touched the edge of his lips. "Don't matter. I ain't got much of an appetite anyways."

"Maybe it'll return in time for lunch."

"Maybe," Joshua allowed. He angled his head so that he could watch her expression when he said, "'I've tried to leave."

Alice's eyelashes fluttered down while she tried to figure out the best way to respond to that. The truth won out. "I know."

"I've left you three times now," he informed her conversationally.

Alice gave a slight shake of her head, correcting him, "You've tried to leave three times, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it." She met his eyes for the first time since joining him on the porch. "I knew you'd come back, William and Mark did too. We all knew you'd come back."

He didn't say anything at first, and then asked, "How'd you know?"

"Faith. Hope... Love." That last one she added as a quiet afterthought. One shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. "Take your pick. In the end, I suspect it was a bit of all three."

Joshua's hand dropped away from his face to the arm rest and he tilted his head back against the chair backing, closing his eyes to admit, "It took me a fair piece to realize that it's damn near impossible to leave someone or something when what you're running from and where you want to run to are the same thing."

Alice couldn't stop herself from smiling at his words. "Yes, I can see where that'd pose some difficulties."

A rough chuckle escaped him and he reached out to take her hand in his, lifting it to brush a kiss across her knuckles. "So I reckon now you're stuck with me for the duration."

She laughed, agreeing, "I reckon I am." Her fingers intertwined tightly with his and she settled back in her chair. They sat in comfortable silence for a spell. Then she brushed a wisp of hair away from her cheek and cleared her throat. "Yes."

Joshua cocked his head at her, his smile slightly confused. "Yes? Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'll marry you." Alice snuck a peek at him from beneath lowered lashes, taking in his stunned expression and slack jaw, and a tinge of uncertainty went through her. What if he really didn't want to marry her or had changed his mind? "I mean, if you still want to get married, that is." She yelped with surprise when he hauled her out of her chair and onto his lap, hugging her to his chest. 

Then Joshua proceeded to thoroughly kiss her until they were both breathless before asking, "That answer your question?"

 

~~~~~ THE END ~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia:  
> Osteomyelitis can be a serious problem even with today's modern medicine. It often requires prolonged antibiotic therapy, and as much as it kills me to say it, maggots have been suggested as a valid method to treat it even in modern times.  
> Honey is an ancient treatment for burns that is also still valid to this day. It has to do with the fact that honey is acidic, which makes it antibacterial, and also has other antiseptic properties that make it help prevent infection.  
> Most self-proclaimed doctors in the 1880s had never been to medical school or had any organized medical training, although many had trained in something like an apprenticeship under another doctor. Battlefield triage leftover from the Civil War would provided an abundance of experience in treating injuries, but often under the worst of conditions.  
> Diethyl ether and chloroform were two of the most readily available anesthetics of the late 1880s. That said, chloroform was riskier to use and had more potential to cause cardiac arrest. Neither were analgesics (painkillers) so while they would knock a patient out, they did nothing to stop pain receptors from firing. Unconscious patients would still cry out in pain and thrash during surgery, but have no recollection of doing either upon waking up.  
> Carbolic acid, or phenol, was the first widely used surgical antiseptic. It was used to sterilize surgical instruments and wash hands before the medical profession trended toward the current 'aseptic' and sterile room surgeries we have now.
> 
> FINALLY: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this mammoth fiction. If you liked it, please leave a comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Trivia and Chapter Notes (some of this is common knowledge, the rest is courtesy of Wikipedia)  
> \- "Only by pride cometh contention: But with the well advised is wisdom." Proverbs 13:10, KJV  
> \- One of the translations of the name Joshua is "Deliverer". What can I say, I thought it was appropriate ;)  
> \- The cinnamon and sugar cookies that Mark desires are what you and I would know as 'Snickerdoodles'. That name wasn't coined until the 1900s.  
> \- The town of Bisbee was a copper, silver and gold mining town created in 1880, due to its close proximity to the Copper Queen Mine. It still exists to this day, and is the county seat of Cochise County, AZ.  
> \- Tombstone is actually even closer to Bisbee than Contention, (all 3 are in Cochise County) but there was no railroad to the city in the mid 1880s on any of the maps I researched. The population of the city had already peaked and was in a decline, in part due to two large fires that swept through the city in 1881 and 1882. The silver mines had run out of ore, and then the mines themselves were flooded out by groundwater.  
> \- Contention would eventually die out and become of Arizona's many ghost towns. It is purely my personal speculation that the city died out as a result of the gold and silver mining drying up. I figure if Tombstone can die as a result of the mines running out, so can Contention ;)  
> \- Tuberculosis was one of the deadliest diseases in the US in the 1800s, and still kills thousands of people the world in present day, especially in third world countries. Expensive sanitariums were the common treatment for the disease in the 1880s. The disease has a latent period during which the person's symptoms are virtually nonexistent and the disease is in a non-contagious state. Despite hours of internet research I failed to find any mention of what medication Alice and Dan would have been giving Mark to help his symptoms (likely because no medicine treatments really worked until the 1920s). TB thrived in urban conditions, and by moving out West where Mark would have been exposed to a dry climate and lots of bright sunshine, the boy would have been given the best chances to improve his overall health that a family such as Dan's could afford.  
> \- Longhorn cattle were the preferred choice of many Arizona cattlemen following the Civil War. They were large, aggressive enough to protect themselves from predators, hardy, could survive a few days without water, and would thrive on scrubland many cattle would die out on, all of which made them uniquely suited to the Arizona climate. Those characteristics also made it possible for cowboys to drive large herds from Texas, New Mexico and Arizona north to places like Oregon, Montana and where beef was rarer, and thus the prices for cattle were higher. However, they also took longer to mature than 'newer' cattle breeds like Angus and Hereford, and the quality of meat was lower as well, which lowered their value. They quickly declined in popularity by the turn of the century, at one point becoming even rarer than the buffalo in the West.


End file.
